Obliviate
by jalys0120
Summary: Set in the post-Hogwarts era, this story depicts the depth of the bond between two brothers, the pain of a best friend's betrayal, and the ups and downs of relationships. {Rated M because I wasn't sure if the torture scenes were too graphic at some points, and strong language is used. Please leave reviews, and vote on the poll after you're done reading!}
1. Chapter 1

The sound of voices that greeted Harry as he entered the Ministry of Magic was—compared to the silence of the street he'd just come from—nearly deafening. He covered his ears for a second, before he took a deep breath and continued on through the spacious lobby.

"All right there, Harry?" a stout, young wizard with a billowing gold cloak asked.

His uniform was visible even though it was mostly concealed by his cloak. Harry inferred that the young wizard must work for the Improper Use of Magic office.

He nodded and gave the wizard a slight smile, before he hurried off toward the lift. He hadn't meant to come across as rude, but he was just too nervous. He hadn't eaten much before coming—he had only managed to take a few bites of toast before nausea brought on by anxiety had washed over him.

The young wizard hadn't seemed to mind; if he had, he didn't show it. Instead, he called, "Have a productive day!", and rushed off in the opposite direction to take care of something else.

Harry was barely aware of the memos that fluttered in after him as he entered the lift. Minister Shacklebolt still kept the clever idea of using memos in practice even after he had taken up his new postwar role. Harry took the few moments he had while the lift passed the stories one by one to compose himself and gain control of his frantically fluttering stomach.

Too soon, though, the cheerful female voice announced, "Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services."

Harry took one last deep breath, steeled himself, and walked briskly out of the lift, trailed after by several memos, which scattered in the direction of their respective destinations. One still seemed to follow Harry, however, and it didn't stop until he approached a door, which was open a crack. The memo slipped inside, but Harry didn't dare follow it. Instead, he knocked twice, feeling his hart begin to race again.

"Enter."

The calm, deep voice of the Minister seemed to make Harry feel just a tiny bit better. As he slowly pushed the door open wide enough for him to slip through, the Minister smiled, clearly happy to see him.

"Ah, Harry. Right on time."

As Kingsley Shacklebolt gestured for Harry to sit down in the empty chair, Harry's nervousness seemed to evaporate. It took a great amount of effort for him not to laugh out loud. Kingsley gave him a questioning, amused glance as Harry couldn't help but smile.

"It's just... I was... well..."

"Nervous?"

Harry met Kingsley's knowing gaze, only mildly surprised that the new Minister seemed to understand Harry's apprehension.

"I felt the exact same way when I was in your place, Harry," the kind wizard said quietly. "And I wouldn't suspect that we are the only ones that went through the emotional roller coaster that comes with the beginning of Auror training."

Harry gave Kingsley a slight smile, feeling much better, though a tiny bit of unease still remained coiled in the pit of his stomach. Sensing this, the minister placed a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder.

"If this helps, I know you'll do just fine. After all, you already have many abilities that are learned in the basics of Auror training, and some that are even better than those that practice for many years."

By some form of unspoken terms, Kingsley didn't directly discuss Harry's defeat of Voldemort, and Harry was thankful for it. This fact made him like the minister a lot more. Kingsley had known Harry for a short while before the battle, but it still surprised Harry that he seemed to know what to say and what not to, whether to bring something up or not at all, and how Harry felt nearly every time they spoke.

Harry sighed, impulsively rubbing his eyes. The events of the bloody battle were still painfully fresh in everyone's minds, especially Harry's. Despite the fact that Ron and Hermione kept reassuring him that the deaths of their friends and, in Ron's case, his brother, weren't Harry's fault, he was nevertheless haunted by the people who were killed: Lupin, Tonks, Moody, Fred, and the countless others that Harry couldn't bear to think of. In the amount of time that he had let his mind wander to the victims of the Battle of Hogwarts, the office had been silent. The minister hadn't spoken, for he inferred that Harry was thinking, and judging by his expression, he was thinking about events that troubled him deeply. Finally, Harry drew a shaky breath and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Kingsley sighed, shaking his head. "For what, Harry?" The question was soft and sympathetic. "You have nothing to apologize for."

He said nothing more, for he didn't want to trouble the young man with heavy words that he knew Harry had already heard before. Instead, he let Harry have a moment, before he sighed softly and gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder.

"Let me get you your uniform and materials, Harry," he offered quietly.

"Yeah... thanks, Minister."

Kingsley nodded before he stood and went to a large cabinet near the door. He pulled open a large drawer and retrieved a large plastic bag. He closed the drawer with a click, before he reached over and took a small book off of a stack on the desk that stood in a corner of the room. He held it out to Harry, who took it, murmuring his thanks.

Harry glanced at the book. The parchment was thick, the same official-looking parchment that, he realized, had been used when a letter had been sent to the Dursley's before his fifth year at Hogwarts when he had been accused of using magic in front of a Muggle—in this case, his cousin, Dudley. The title of the book, _Auror _Training: _What _You _Need _to Know, was written lengthwise in bold lettering. Harry leafed absently through the pages, noting how thick it seemed to be. With a weary sigh, he slowly got to his feet, turning to face Kingsley.

"Thank you," he said softly.

The young Minister offered a gentle, warm smile as he gave Harry another reassuring pat on the back. "Don't worry, Harry. You'll do just fine."

Harry sighed as he unlocked the door to his house. He used an ordinary key in broad daylight, just in case any Muggles happened to be watching. He had managed to buy the house right after the battle, and he had done a few renovations to it as needed, though, admittedly, there wasn't really much to be done. The house had already been in excellent condition when Harry had purchased it—the only truly significant thing he had done was to bring in some new appliances and redo the carpeting.

The house was small, with only two bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchenette, and a small living room. For Harry, though, it was perfect. The house was located in a quiet, suburban neighborhood a short distance away from his parents' home in Godric's Hollow. Even though the thought of Godric's Hollow brought back many painful memories, he liked living near the place where his parents had intended to raise him. He liked the neighborhood, too; many wizard families lived there, as well as a few Muggle families.

Even though his life with the Dursleys hadn't been at all glamorous or easy, or perhaps even humane, Harry didn't dislike Muggles in general, and he found that he liked living among them. It brought both aspects of who he was together; not only was he a wizard, but he also had Muggle blood, and there were still things in the Muggle world that he enjoyed.

He placed the plastic bag containing his training uniform atop his bed, along with the book. A soft, rapid tapping on his window startled him, but when he glanced through the curtains, a broad grin broke across his face. He unlatched the windowpane and heaved it open, still smiling as he reached out to stroke the owl's soft feathers. In greeting, the owl hooted softly and nibbled his finger gently, which reminded him, with a twinge of sadness, of his former owl.

Hedwig had been through a lot with him, and losing her had been like having a limb amputated. It was mainly because of the loss he had felt that he had initially refused to get another owl. He knew he would have to get another one eventually, however, and, after many weeks of laboring over the decision, he finally forced himself to go get one. Little did he know that he would find one that, eerily enough, looked just like Hedwig, and even tended to act like her quite often. Upon seeing her, he had immediately bought her without hesitation, his mind filled with nothing but thoughts of his deceased friend. He had been so overcome with emotion when he realized just how alike the two owls truly were that he actually sank to his knees beside the bed and let the emotions that came with Hedwig's loss truly show themselves for the first time. So it was then that he had decided to name his new owl in honor of his fallen friend, and was overjoyed that she seemed to be like the twin of his former.

Hedwig hooted again as she climbed onto his arm. He smiled again as he closed the window, spotting the letter that was tied to her leg. He got Hedwig a treat before unfolding the letter.

Harry,

Things are going great here, though I miss you terribly. I suppose I should have gotten used to you not being at school anymore, but I still haven't. I'm just grateful I only have this year left. I'm so excited for the holidays; I get to come home and be with you. It's only two weeks away! I love you, Harry, please don't forget that. I know you'll do amazingly during your first week of Auror training. I have faith in you, and you should, too. All of us do. Write me back a quick note when you can.

Love you always,

Ginny

Harry couldn't help but smile as he read the letter once more. He had managed to rekindle his romance with Ginny Weasley after the battle, and they had more or less started dating. It still surprised him how okay with it Ron seemed to be, considering that it was his younger sister. As Ron had put it, though, it was better for Ginny to be with Harry, since Ron could fully trust him, rather than someone he would have to get to know. Harry supposed that it made sense; he was just glad that he wouldn't have to choose between his best friend and his relationship with Ginny.

He read it a third time before he got a quill and a piece of parchment and wrote back to her, eventually sending Hedwig off with the note.

He spent the rest of the afternoon shifting between watching TV and dozing, before he finally decided to have some dinner. Afterward, he took a shower and, once he felt refreshed, settled down to read his Auror training book.

It explained what Auror training consisted of, a year-by-year schedule of what would be covered and what methods were used in training, and what minimum scores a perspective Auror would have to have in order to pass the tests given at the end of the four years, along with a breakdown of the tests given annually.  
By the time Harry had read the entire thing, it was well past midnight, and his eyelids were closing. Wearily, he set the training guide on the small table beside his bed, along with his glasses. He turned out the light with a murmur of, "_Nox." Though he was exhausted, it took awhile for Harry to truly find sleep, for his mind refused to quiet itself. All of the information he had learned from his reading was swimming around his mind in a jumbled, confusing mess. He forced his thoughts to slow down, and sleep soon overtook him.


	2. Chapter 2

The night before Auror training was due to commence, Harry had barely slept, though Kingsley, Hermione, Ron, and the rest of the people who supported him kept trying to reassure him that he would do fine. Ron was just as nervous, though, so the two friends had spent the evening together, trying to relax. Their efforts had worked, but only for a short while, at least for Harry.

When his alarm clock rang, Harry rolled over with an exhausted groan. After about twenty seconds of the relentless call of the alarm, he sighed with frustration and turned it off, forcing himself out of bed. He hoped that his lack of sleep wasn't an omen.

Harry got dressed in his uniform and tried to arrange his hair, though his attempt was, as always, unsuccessful. Giving up on his hair, and much too nervous to eat anything, he pocketed his wand before making his way outside, locking the door behind him. Making sure nobody was watching, he took a few steps away from the door and, taking a deep breath, Disapparated.

He landed near the Ministry doors, though he wouldn't be going in. He sighed and swallowed as he made his way past the large building and toward its rear, where the expansive training fields were. He could see a few other young men already there, dressed in the same clothing he was wearing. Though both genders could become Aurors, it was a predominantly male wizard career, with only a select few women desiring to go through training. Somewhat apart from the milling group of young trainees, a group of Aurors huddled together, murmuring quietly. _No doubt they're the ones in charge of the _training, Harry thought.

"Hey, Harry!" one of the trainees called, grinning. It was Neville Longbottom.

"Hey, Neville!" Harry called back as he jogged over to his friend.

"All right?" Neville inquired.

"Yeah, I suppose... You?"

"A little nervous, but I'll live."

Harry allowed himself a slight chuckle as he nodded sympathetically.

"Is Ron coming?"

"He should be. I was with him last night." Just as Harry had finished speaking, he spotted a redheaded figure hurrying toward them.

"Am I late?"

"Nope," Harry answered with a grin. "I only just got here." Ron exhaled, looking immensely relieved. For a while, the three friends stood together, their lack of deep conversation a reflection of how nervous they truly were. A few others had arrived after Ron had, and, after nearly three quarters of an hour, one of the Aurors strode out into the middle of the field and faced the trainees. He cleared his throat, and the murmur of conversation died away almost instantly. Once he was sure he held everyone's attention, the Auror spoke.

"Good morning, all of you. On behalf of the Minister of Magic, my fellow comrades and I would like to welcome you to your first day of Auror training. I am Bailey Stewart. I will be responsible for assisting you with your training during your first year."

This didn't really surprise Harry. Bailey was tall and stocky, about three inches taller than himself. He seemed to radiate confidence, which was something Harry had noticed almost as instantly as he had spoken. Bailey talked for nearly twenty minutes, explaining, in greater detail, how the next few months would progress. Several of the young men fidgeted, obviously becoming worried. Bailey didn't sugar coat anything; he said that although the war was over, there wasn't any need to relax the laws that were being enforced or to make training any less stringent. Harry's own nerves heightened, though he did his best to conceal it. By the time they were due to start their fitness and endurance exercises, there was a knot in Harry's stomach.

Ron rubbed his hands together anxiously and murmured to Neville and Harry, "What d'you think?"

"I dunno," Neville murmured back. "We'll just have to see how the next few months go."

Nearly an hour and a half later, Harry was beginning to wonder just how much he would be able to handle. He was hot, sweaty, and already exhausted. Bailey had begun to irritate him—he was screaming at everyone like a drill sergeant, his favorite words being, "Faster, faster! Come on, guys, move! I don't have all day!"

By the time noon rolled around, all of the trainees were shuffling their feet with exhaustion. Harry forced himself not to pass out right then and there as he, Neville, and Ron went to the small corner store to purchase lunch.

"Why d'you think he has us doing these?" Ron grumbled, taking a large bite out of his roast chicken sandwich.

"To build strength and endurance," Neville quoted, taking a sip from his drink.

"Yeah, yeah, I got that. I just don't understand why they didn't warn us of this beforehand. Here I was thinking that they would be nice to us on the first day."

"You've obviously been let down, then," Harry murmured tiredly, staring at his sandwich. His lack of sleep the night before, combined with the exhaustion of the endurance exercises, left him unable to think properly.

Ron glanced worriedly at his friend, but Harry gave him a dismissive shrug. He took a small bite and forced himself to chew it nonchalantly. He ate about a quarter of the sandwich before he felt too nauseous to eat anymore.

"Harry, are you sure you're all right?" Neville asked, concern evident in his tone.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Harry said, trying to reassure his friends. "Just tired. I didn't really sleep last night."

Harry had abandoned his lunch and decided, like many of the other trainees, to sneak in a nap before training started up again. Ron and Neville relaxed on either side of him, murmuring in undertones about Quidditch and how England would play Australia soon. Harry was lulled by his friends' voices, and it took no less than five minutes for him to drift off, as exhausted as he was. Too soon, though, Bailey appeared again, and the other trainees groaned in hushed opposition. Ron gently nudged Harry, whose eyelids flew open and he awoke with a start.

"Already?" he murmured sleepily.

"Yeah. Can't wait to find out what Mr. Confidence will make us do now."

Harry couldn't help himself; a slight laugh escaped him. Apparently, he hadn't been the only one to notice Bailey's sense of overconfidence. He sighed and sat up, rubbing his eyes and readjusting his glasses.

"Come on, you guys! Up, let's go!"

The trainees grumbled and complained as they got to their feet, brushing the grass off their pants. Bailey turned to face them, and cleared his throat. This seemed to be his silent way of saying, "Shut up", and they all got the message.

"Since this morning's exercises went so smoothly, I thought we'd do a bit of discussion this afternoon."

The trainees mumbled their consent; as long as there wouldn't be any more endurance exercises that day, no one cared what they did. Off on the practice field, Harry could see other perspective Aurors. He inferred that they were further along in their training, because their uniforms weren't the same color as his own. Many of them ran along with unperturbed expressions, and he hoped desperately that it would become that easy for him.

After ordering them all into a circle in the grass, Bailey positioned himself in the middle and began to lecture them on different fighting techniques. He showed them different tricks, his wand seemingly flying through the air of its own accord. Harry drank in every word, trying his best to remember absolutely everything Bailey was telling them. Occasionally, though, Bailey would catch his eye, and give him the strangest look. Harry wasn't stupid; it didn't take a genius to recognize the hidden meaning in the Auror's gaze. It was clear that he didn't much like Harry, though the reason as to why was beyond him. All the same, he didn't give this much thought. He was too busy trying to concentrate on the lecture that Bailey's contempt for him seemed insignificant then.

"Tomorrow, I'll show you more combat techniques. Next week, we will begin one-on-one combat, where you will be assessed by current Aurors. Keep in mind that these combat sessions are merely for practice, but they will allow you to have a better idea of what the yearly exams will be like."

"Blimey," Ron murmured incredulously. "This sounds just like school."

Harry smiled only slightly at Ron's words, but Neville nodded in agreement, looking amused at Ron's griping.

Everyone seemed to be relieved when Bailey dismissed them at half past four. It had been an extremely long day, and even though the trainees looked completely worn out, Bailey seemed to be at ease and relaxed. He gave them polite waves, as if he would much rather be doing something else rather than dismissing a group of feet-shuffling, groaning, griping young men. Harry kept his mouth shut, saying nothing as he, Ron, and Neville trudged away from the Auror training center and toward the imposing Ministry building. Harry had no desire to do much of anything that evening, except sleep. _At least I won't have any trouble falling asleep anytime _soon, he thought with a shake of his head.

When the three friends reached the Ministry's entrance, they walked a short way down the block, before they said their farewells and made plans to meet the next morning at the small diner down the road for breakfast.

Harry was glad to be home. When he landed on his front lawn, he glanced around to make sure no Muggles had seen him, before he tramped up to the front door and unlocked it. He welcomed the air conditioning as it blasted him with cool air. He exhaled with relief and exhaustion as he closed the door behind him, locked it, then proceeded to remove his shoes. He ravished in the feel of the smooth carpet beneath his tired feet as he made his way through the house. Once in his bedroom, he pulled out a set of comfortable clothes, then made his way into the bathroom.

He welcomed the warm water as it trickled down his face, chest, and back. He immediately began to relax; he could feel his tense and weary muscles began to unclench. A ten-minute shower left Harry clean, content, and sleepy. He got dressed, yawning, before he left the bathroom and climbed into bed, a sigh of relief escaping him as he collapsed onto the blankets. With a grunt, he forced himself to get up so that he could pull the covers back and slide underneath them. No sooner had he turned on the TV, set the sleep timer, and managed to get comfortable enough to doze off before the phone rang.

Grumbling about having to go all that way to answer the phone, he clambered out of bed and raced into the kitchen to get it.

"Hello?" he murmured, slightly breathless from trying to answer it before it stopped ringing.

"Harry?" He was mildly surprised to hear Ginny's voice on the other end.

"Oh, hey, Ginny! How'd you get ahold of a phone?" Hogwarts, being a school of magic, didn't use many Muggle items, the least of which was a telephone, and most wizards had no idea how to use one.

"A small town near Hogsmeade," she replied simply, as if Harry should have expected something of the sort. "There's a shop that has one; it's quite intriguing, it has all sorts of Muggle stuff. I've bought a few things, and the owner—kind woman, she is—she let me use her phone."

"Did you tell her what you intended to use it for?" he asked, slight amusement creeping into his tone.

"Yeah, she didn't mind at all. Thought it was cute, actually."

Harry chuckled softly. "I appreciate you calling," he said quietly, voicing his thoughts.

Ginny seemed to smile into the phone. "How'd it go?"

Harry sighed, suppressing a groan.

"Uh oh," was Ginny's response. "What happened?" Her voice had taken on a tender, concerned tone.

"Nothing of consequence," Harry replied with an exhale. "It was just... really exhausting."

"I wish I was there, Harry," Ginny said softly, sounding very much like her mother did when she fussed over him. "I could've made you a cup of strong tea that would've helped you relax."

"It's all right, love. Really," Harry answered.

He tried to stifle a yawn, but Ginny must have heard it, because she suddenly said, "What am I thinking? I should have let you sleep awhile before calling. I'm sorry, Harry—I just wanted to::"

"It's fine, Gin, seriously," Harry interrupted her. "I hadn't even fallen asleep yet."

Still, Ginny seemed quite adamant about him getting his sleep, and it didn't help that Harry kept yawning. Finally, with a promise that she'd see him that weekend, they hung up. Harry went back into the bedroom. The TV was still on. He got back into bed, took off his glasses, and slid under the covers with yet another yawn. It took little time for him to fall asleep; he welcomed it like an old friend he hadn't seen for ages.


	3. Chapter 3

The next week seemed to progress much the same as the first day had. Bailey hadn't let up on the intensity of the endurance sessions, and it still left them exhausted by lunchtime. Most days consisted of afternoon combat lectures and demonstrations. Although Harry fully grasped everything that was being said, he still worried about the upcoming sessions where they would have to practice what they learned on each other. The long days left Harry too tired to do much of anything, and even though Ginny had come home for the holidays, he was spent by the time he got home. Ginny never seemed to complain; she would always have a kettle of steaming tea waiting for him, and when he would shower and curl up on the couch or in bed, she would bring him a cup, and he'd be asleep within minutes. He'd sleep for nearly two hours, after which he'd awaken, have dinner, then spend a bit of time with her, before he'd go right back to bed.

That weekend, he and Ginny were going to her parents' house for dinner, where they would meet Ron and Hermione. Because he didn't have training on the weekends, he felt much more rested than he did during the week, which pleased Ginny. Dinner with the Weasleys was just as great as it always was for Harry, and the fact that he felt well-rested seemed to make his mood much better still.

"How have things been with Harry?" Percy's wife, Penelope, had asked Ginny while they were setting out the cakes and pies that the women had all made.

Ginny smiled, shrugging lightly. "We really haven't had that much time to do anything special, what with his training and everything. He's just so tired when he gets home."

Penelope frowned slightly in response to Ginny's words.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Penelope, please. What is it?"

"Ginny, it's nothing. I just don't think that's very fair. I mean, you only have one more week with him before you have to go back to Hogwarts; he should at least be trying harder to spend time with you."

"He does," Ginny replied defensively. "It's just not always easy, you know, with Auror training and all."

"Yeah, I suppose," Penelope said after a moment.

Nothing more was said about the matter, and Ginny refused to give it too much thought. After all, she knew that things would eventually get better between her and Harry. It was her final year at Hogwarts, and once Harry grew more comfortable with his routine, he would be less worn out (hopefully), and, by default, they would have more time for each other. The more Ginny repeated this to herself, the more sure she became. She knew she had nothing to worry about, and she knew that her friends were all worried for nothing.

Bailey strode confidently into the center of the group of trainees, faced them, and cleared his throat, as he always did. When everyone was silent, he smiled, which gave Harry a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"All right, trainees! Today is the day we've all been waiting for!"

A murmur from the gathered crowd seemed to contradict Bailey's statement, as if everyone else would be quite content doing something less daunting. He didn't seem to notice, or care.

"S. I've taken the liberty of pairing you up at random, so that there is no buddy-buddy crap going on and there are fair fights."

He seemed to glance in Harry's direction, his eyes sweeping over Ron and Neville, too. Neville glanced at Harry, who stared back at Bailey. Almost as suddenly as he had done it, Bailey seemed to return his gaze back to the others, which made it seem like he hadn't even looked at Harry or his friends at all. Harry tried to keep his expression neutral, as if nothing had occurred, but it puzzled him. What did Bailey have against him? After all, they were on the same side, weren't they?

He had no more time to ponder the questions that burned through him, though, because at that moment, Bailey called, his voice as sharp as a whip, "Potter!"

Harry looked across at him, willing himself to meet the Auror's stare.

"You're up first. You and Peterson."

Craig Peterson, like Bailey, was tall and well-built, compared with Harry, who was tall but a bit scrawnier. But if Bailey had paired them to intimidate Harry, it hadn't worked, because he knew that fights which only involved magic were not about size or build of the body, but were instead about your ability to use spells and techniques properly, something that Harry couldn't help but feel quite comfortable and confident in.

"Wands ready!" barked Bailey.

Harry gripped his wand tightly, his eyes trained on Craig's. Craig glanced away from Harry for a moment, his eyes on Bailey. The Auror gave him an encouraging smile before he raised a whistle to his lips and blew one sharp note.

Almost acting on impulse, Harry's wand flicked through the air, sending Craig Peterson to his knees. Many of the other novices grinned and whooped as they all watched him fall, then stagger to his feet. Harry had been about to let Craig have an opportunity to strike back, before he noticed it. The look in Craig's eyes was angry, hard, cruel. It was clear that he did not take being brought down by Harry Potter with a single flick of his wand very well.

Just as Harry was about to strike again, Craig's fist connected with his side, causing Harry to flinch and recoil a few steps.

The others booed as they watched, and someone yelled, "Hey, he didn't even use any magic!" "It's a wands-only fight!" someone else yelled, but the protests were soon drowned out as Harry struck back, causing Craig's wand to spasm uncontrollably.

"What did you do to my wand?" he roared in Harry's face.

Harry stepped back, flicking his wand again, sending Craig hard onto his back a few feet away. His wand had stopped convulsing now, and he immediately seized that moment to slash it quickly through the air.

Harry recognized the movements even before he felt the stabbing pain. He gritted his teeth as hot blood began to drip from the gashes that were now covering his right leg. The others continued to protest angrily as the fight grew more and more desperate. To Harry, it was as if he was almost fighting for his life, rather than a good comment from the judging Aurors. Harry had no choice but to wound Craig as well, for if he didn't, it would hardly be fair. What shocked him, though, was that Bailey seemed to be the only Auror there. Weren't the judges supposed to be there, too?

A sudden, horrible pain shot through him, interrupting his thoughts. Craig had managed to wound him dangerously just below the sternum. He gasped as hot blood poured down his shirt, staining his already blood-soaked clothes. Harry fought desperately to stay upright as the loss of blood was slowly becoming too much. Finally, with one desperate thrust, he saw a jet of light streak from the wand in his hand. In his peripheral vision, Harry saw Craig topple sideways, glowering. The sound of someone yelling, "ENOUGH!", was the last thing Harry heard before he felt himself fall to the ground with a thump.

"Bailey, what is this?" Another Auror, just about Bailey's age, was standing beside Harry— though, to him, the Auror's voice sounded further and further away.

In comparison to Bailey, this Auror was fairer in skin pigmentation, except for his face, which was somewhat blotchy, as if he spent lots of time in the sun. He also had lighter hair and a look that made him appear on constant alert, as was the stereotype for his occupation. He was a few inches shorter than Bailey, but by the looks of it, it was he who held the authority. The badge pinned to his uniform read, "Aidan Howard, Ministry of Magic, Auror Headquarters".

"I told you to teach these novices how to properly use their combat techniques, not to slaughter each other! Explain yourself!"

When he didn't respond, Aidan glowered at him. "I will take over the combat training as of today, Bailey. I will still leave you with endurance, however."

Bailey marched off, grumbling something about push-overs and not being any fun. After a moment, Harry's eyes slowly opened. He attempted to get up, but as he did, pain shot through him, and he dropped back to the grass with a grunt.

"Don't get up, Harry!" Aidan ordered. "You're bleeding loads. I've got Healers on the way."

A haze began to fill Harry's mind, only temporarily blocking the pain, and he couldn't help but wonder how Aidan had already summoned Healers. The others stared at Harry, looks of concern on their faces. Ron and Neville exchanged a particularly worried glance. After all, if Harry was already so hurt, imagine what would happen to the rest of them.

Harry was nearly unconscious when the Healers arrived. They took one look at him and immediately set to work, ordering the others back so that they could move about with ease. Even though Harry was still somewhat conscious, he had lost more blood than Craig. Ron and Neville got a good look at their friend as he was rushed away to be taken to St. Mungo's for further treatment.

Harry knew that someone was carrying him—he could feel their strong arms underneath him; he could feel the slight rocking as they walked. He winced as the person sometimes jostled him, but he didn't move otherwise. He was trying so hard to fight the blackness that seemed to desire nothing more than to swallow him whole. He barely heard someone say, "I'm bringing Harry Potter. He was injured in combat training."

Numerous sounds suddenly assaulted his ears, though, like everything else, they seemed as if they were too far away to properly make out.

The Healer who was carrying Harry had just entered the bustling lobby of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, and was scurrying through the crowds of people, trying to reach the nurse's station.

Many people cleared out of his way when they saw who he was carrying. Many others gasped in dismay and horror.  
"That's Harry, Harry Potter!"  
"It's Harry Potter!"

"What happened to him?!"

"Merlin, he looks so terrible!"

"Look at the poor boy, he's as white as a sheet!"

Harry was immediately passed on to another Healer, who quickly placed him onto a bed, which caused pain to shoot through his body. The pain increased to an entirely new level. It was nearly blinding... It reminded him of the pain in his scar... The blackness took its chance as Harry's guard had slipped. It enveloped him completely, and he was no longer able to resist it.


	4. Chapter 4

Pain had been the last thing Harry could recall before blacking out, and it was the first thing he felt when he awoke. He winced, a breath of air escaping him as he tried not to make a sound.

"Sorry, Harry, I'm so sorry," a female voice murmured softly.

She didn't sound as far away as the other voices had, but it still took him a few seconds to fully remember where he was and why he felt as if he had been hit by several curses at once. He felt a stab of pain shoot suddenly up his right leg, which twitched, causing him to make a sound halfway between a moan and a grunt.

"I'm sorry, Harry, really. I'm almost done, I promise."

He managed to open his eyes after a few seconds. He blinked, trying to get accustomed to the dim lighting. A young woman stood over him, tending to his wounds. She couldn't have been any older than Harry was. She was beautiful, with long, brown hair and matching eyes. He squinted and stared at her for several minutes, before something flashed through his mind. Recognition.

"Hey... I, I know you... Hayley?"

The girl smiled broadly; yes, he had gotten it right. He knew she looked familiar. "Yeah. Hey, Harry! I wish it wasn't here that we met again, though."

She gazed at him, the beginnings of a frown crossing her face. Hayley and Harry had met briefly at a party they both attended shortly after the end of school and the war, and she was great friends with Hermione and Ron as well. She had also gone to Hogwarts at the same time Harry had, but they had only spoken a few times.

"Yeah... I know." He tried not to wince again as Hayley gently spread a thick cream on the wound on his torso.

After she finished, she replaced his bandages and frowned. "I didn't think they do this to Auror trainees," she murmured quietly, dismay obvious in her voice.

Harry found himself frowning, too, though he shook his head. "They don't. It was just... We were practicing our combat techniques, and, well..."

But Harry wasn't sure what had actually happened. Yes, he had been paired with Craig, yes, he had struck first, yes, Craig seemed almost willing to beat Harry to the death then and there... but what exactly could he say to Hayley without revealing his doubt about Bailey, and about Craig?

Hayley didn't want to pressure him into telling her, so she just shook her head and touched his hand. "Don't worry, Harry. It's all right. You don't have to tell me now if you don't want to."

But Harry did want to tell her. Even though he and Hayley only spoke on the occasion when they were in school, he knew that she would understand and believe him. She seemed to have been one of the few who didn't doubt his claims that Voldemort had returned when he was a fifth year. Still, he wasn't even fully convinced that it had all happened because of Bailey's disliking for him. Harry sighed, which made him wince slightly.

"I can get you more pain medication, if you like," Hayley offered with a soft smile.

Harry considered it, before he finally shrugged. "I'm all right. Don't worry."

"You sure?" Her concern for him was authentic. It seemed to stretch beyond the normal Healer-patient relationship, something that touched Harry.

"Yeah, thanks," he whispered, a smile tugging at his lips.

She shook her head as if to say that it was nothing, before she gazed down at him with eyes that were warm and filled with a genuine desire to do what she could for him. "You look tired," she offered.

He sighed, but smiled slightly. "Yeah. I, I really haven't been sleeping well for the past week or so." He shrugged, forgetting about his injuries. Grimacing, he reached up to rub his eyes; the movement stretched his muscles, causing a bit of pain to remind him that he wasn't supposed to be moving so much.

"I think," Hayley began as she gingerly helped him turn onto his side. "That getting some more sleep would be good for you."

Harry didn't protest; he felt much too tired to do so. "Okay. I think... I think I will."

"Good." She gave him another warm smile before she straightened, gently placed his glasses beside his pillow, and made sure he was as comfortable as he could be. Halfway through this, Harry's eyelids had slid closed, and by the time Hayley whispered, "If you need anything, just call.", Harry was already falling asleep.

The news of Harry and Craig's fight in Auror training had spread like wildfire the moment the others had been dismissed by Aidan later on that afternoon. Ron had immediately gone to Hermione's department, much to her shock, and had informed her of the day's events. She seemed both shocked and outraged, shocked that it had been Harry to be rushed to St. Mungo's, and outraged that this kind of dangerous activity" happening only in their second week of training. Ron had said that it was most likely Bailey's doing, that he had forced Harry and Craig to fight openly with each other, but she still felt that it was wrong nonetheless.

Naturally, when the news had reached Ginny, she had become anxious, and had insisted on going to St. Mungo's with her mother. Mrs. Weasley, like Ginny, had immediately decided to go to the hospital to see Harry. The two women entered the deserted shop and approached the ugly dummy in the window display.

"We've come to see Harry Potter," Ginny said to it.

After a few seconds, the dummy nodded subtly, and Ginny and her mother proceeded forward, vanishing through the glass into the bustling lobby of the hospital. They didn't have to wait long in the queue before it was their turn.

"I was wondering what ward Harry Potter was in," Ginny said to the plump witch.

The witch ran her finger down the list and finally said, "Fourth floor, ward thirteen."

"Thank you."

They hurried into the lift that would carry them upstairs. When they arrived on the fourth floor, they hurried out of the lift and entered the double doors that the witch had indicated. A young woman with long brown hair smiled at them as they entered.

"You must be looking for Harry Potter," she said. The smile was still on her face as she spoke, and her warm, brown eyes seemed to reflect it. Ginny and her mother nodded. "He's down the hall, room 213," the young Healer said. "I was just going back to check on him; he may still be asleep. Oh, and by the way, I'm Hayley."

"Hi," Ginny replied in greeting, smiling at Hayley. Mrs. Weasley smiled in response.

They followed her down the hall, and when she reached room 213, she knocked lightly on the door. When there was no response, she pushed the door open a crack and peered in.

"You can come in," she said to Ginny and Mrs. Weasley, before she tiptoed in herself. Ginny followed Hayley, who was followed by her mother. Their eyes immediately moved to the bed where Harry lay. There were bandages covering a portion of the area just below his chest, where his rib cage began. There was another covering his right forearm, and another on the upper part of his left. His glasses lay beside his pillow; he was on his right side, his arm bent upward so that he wasn't putting any pressure on his forearm. His eyes were tightly closed, and the slow rise and fall of his chest let them all know that he was sound asleep. Ginny couldn't help but smile slightly—this was the deepest she'd seen Harry sleep in awhile. Hayley gingerly checked his bandages (the only time he moved was when she'd checked the ones below his chest), before she nodded to herself, wrote something on a pad of parchment she held, then turned to Ginny.

"I'll let you have some time with him." With that, she strode from the room, her long hair swinging slightly behind her.

Ginny sighed as she gently took Harry's hand in hers. He didn't stir for a long moment, but his face was turned toward her so that she could see how peaceful he looked. Mrs. Weasley sighed, shaking her head with a slight frown. "I still can't believe they've done this," she murmured disapprovingly. "They've only just started! What do these people think? Even a skilled young wizard like Harry has his limits!"

"I know, Mum," Ginny sighed.

"I just hope they lay off all this aggressive training, at least for a while." "Your father told me earlier that Kingsley had been one of the first officials to find out. He was livid. He told one of the Aurors, Aidan, to take full responsibility for the combat training."

Ginny said nothing for a long moment. She highly doubted that this was going to solve the problem completely, but she held her tongue. Something kept nagging at her, though, something that wasn't very good. Instead of speaking her mind, however, she decided to occupy herself by fiddling with Harry's fingers. After a few minutes, Harry stirred slightly. He opened his eyes and blinked several times, a sort of dazed expression crossing his face.

"Harry?" Ginny asked quietly, rubbing his hand with her thumb.

"Ginny?" he croaked, his voice heavy with sleep.

"It's all right, Harry," she murmured, reaching over to stroke his hair. "You're all right. Does anything hurt?"

"No," he whispered, his eyes nearly closed. "Not really. JUST... kind of..." But he didn't say how he felt; the medication that had kept him from feeling much pain had also made him sleepy, and, in no time at all, he had fallen asleep again. Ginny kissed his hand, then his forehead, before she turned to her mother.

"We should let him rest, Ginny," she murmured.

After a few moments of internal struggle, she sighed, then nodded reluctantly. "Okay. But can we come back?"

Mrs. Weasley nodded, smiling. "All right, Ginny. You can stay with him, but let's go get some food, in case he's hungry when he wakes up."

CHAPTER FIVE


	5. Chapter 5

The next few weeks passed without incident. Harry had been released later that day with a firm, 'Be careful!' from the head Healer and a soft smile from Hayley.

"Good luck," she had said. "I know you'll ace your Auror training."

Harry found that he liked being around Hayley. She had been the one that was responsible for looking after him as part of her internship during his stay at St. Mungo's. Healers started their internships on a basic level, with them being voluntary during the first two years. Only Hayley and two others had taken internships so early in their apprenticeship.

Auror training hadn't necessarily become easier, but it had, in some ways, become bearable. He could run faster and for longer distances without desiring to pass out. Bailey seemed to hate him more than ever—he would keep shooting glares at Harry whenever they would pass each other, but Harry did his best to ignore him.

"He's only trying to distract you," Ron said one afternoon while they were playing a game of Wizard Chess in Harry's living room. "He doesn't want you to show everyone how good you really are at all this stuff, because if they all see that you're tearing through everything, then they'll move you up in rank and you may even pass him."

Harry had initially dismissed Ron's claim, saying that that was ridiculous, but as he lay in bed that night, thinking about the past few days, his friend's theory hadn't seemed so far-fetched at all. Even though lots of people admired Harry for his defeat of one of the most dark and powerful wizards of all time, there were others that viewed Harry as nothing more than a stupid boy that had been used as a tool, manipulated by others to do their dirty work. Still, others believed that he had only beat Voldemort through a tremendous amount of luck, and with the help of certain people; now that those certain people were dead, they figured that Harry was no more powerful than any other wizard his age. But just as Harry didn't like to pay much attention to the loads of praise he received, he didn't like to dwell on the amount of hatred toward him. It wasn't because of his arrogance or his self-confidence—those were the last two things that he liked to feel. He just didn't like publicity. Still, his desire to ignore the resentful and negative energy toward him didn't make him entirely ignorant. He reasoned that a moderate amount of knowledge of those who didn't take to him was necessary, because even though Voldemort was no more, he knew that some of his true followers had managed to escape.

Things had regained a sense of normalcy in Harry's life, which was quite unusual. Ginny had returned for her last semester at Hogwarts, and they continued to write to each other. The Patronus Charm had come up in Auror training, and it brought smiles to Ron's, Neville's, and even Harry's faces when they saw the look of shock and anger on Bailey's face when he saw Harry's full, stag-shaped Patronus.

One thing that was giving Harry trouble, however, were the potions they had to learn to make. Despite the fact that Snape wasn't grading his potions anymore, which meant that he was doing better than he had at Hogwarts, it was a rather undisputed fact that Harry wasn't the best at making them. It wasn't for lack of trying, though.

"Good job, Harry," Aidan had said when he had come by to check on their progress. "Just a little more stirring, though, and keep the heat consistent."

"Thank you, Mr. Howard," Harry said, being careful to do as he was instructed.

Even Neville had made a significant improvement from his time at Hogwarts. Part of it had to do with his terrible fear of Professor Snape. Even Ron's abilities in potion-making had improved.

About an hour and a half later, after Harry and his friends were able to correctly brew their potions, Aidan smiled at them all and said, "All right, you guys. Today's lesson is over. Please pour your potions into the vials, cover them, and place them on the table near the entrance. Dispose of whatever remaining liquid you have into the sink."

The young men immediately began to do as they were told, talking quietly amongst themselves as they did. Everyone seemed to like Aidan better than Bailey in general, and they showed it without hesitation. Aidan had even gone out of his way to treat Harry like he would treat any other trainee—he would encourage him on the things he got right, and gently correct him when he was wrong, providing guidance when Harry would request it.

"See you tomorrow, Harry, Ron, Neville!" Aidan called with a grin and a slight wave.

"Bye, Mr. Howard!" the three friends called back as they left 'the large room where Aidan was holding their Potions and Poisons sessions. They made their way toward the Ministry's entrance, talking animatedly about what their plans for the upcoming weekend were.

By the time Harry had arrived home, he was ready to just sit down, relax, and watch some TV. He went into the kitchen and made himself some tea before he curled up on the couch and began to flip through the channels, looking for something interesting.

A rapid tapping on the window let him know that Hedwig was back. Looking somewhat intrigued, he opened the window and let her fly onto his arm and nibble his shirtsleeve lightly. "Where have you been?" he asked her, moderate curiosity in his tone as he stroked her feathers affectionately. Hedwig hooted softly, her eyes fixing on Harry. "What, Hedwig?" he asked softly, frowning. She raised her leg to him, showing a letter attached to it. His frown deepening a little, he pulled open the envelope. He recognized the parchment immediately; it was the only parchment that Ginny ever wrote to him on.

Harry,

I have something I need to tell you, something big. I'm so excited, wait till you hear! Merlin, Harry... nobody gets an opportunity like th... I'll call you when I can.

Ginny

Harry stared at the note, perplexed. What could be so important that Ginny had to call to tell him about it? With a shrug and a shake of his head, he gave Hedwig a strip of bread as he curled up on the couch again. No less than twenty minutes later, the phone rang. With a sigh, he got to his feet and went to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Harry?"

"Hey, Ginny! What's up?"

"Did Hedwig get to you already?"

"Yeah. What's this big news you needed to tell me about?"

"Well, you know the Holyhead Harpies?" Ginny's voice was practically increasing in pitch with her excitement.

"The Quidditch team, right?"

"Yeah!"

"What about them?" he asked, suddenly feeling wary.

"Oh, Harry! You'll never guess! They've offered me a spot! As a Chaser!" Her voice was shrill with excitement; Harry had nearly been startled by the volume of it.

It took a few long seconds for her words to sink in. "A spot? On the team? As... as a Chaser?" he asked, still feeling quite dumbstruck.

"Yeah! Isn't it great?!"

"Yeah, but... I mean... congratulations, Ginny!" For some reason, he just couldn't get speech to come out right. He knew he should be happy for Ginny, and he was. But something just didn't quite feel right.

"Harry?" Most of the feverish excitement had gone from Ginny's voice; it now sounded sad and worried.

"Yeah?"

"Wh-what's wrong? You, you don't sound too happy."

"I am, Gin," he assured her. "It just, well..."

"It what?" Her tone was becoming just a tiny bit harder, more defensive.

"Just... I was just really surprised at first."

"You didn't think I could get something like this, did you?" Her voice had risen slightly in volume, and Harry could tell she was angry.

"Of course I did, Ginny! It's just..." He exhaled, defeated. "Never mind." He was so convinced that she was going to hang up on him, so it came as a shock when she didn't.

"I was so excited to tell you," she said quietly. Her voice was quivering, and she sounded extremely sad, as if she was about to cry. "I wanted you to be the first one out of Hogwarts to know. Mum and Dad don't even know yet. I, I thought... I thought this would make you happy. I thought... I thought you would be proud of me."

"But, Ginny, I am!" Harry argued. "Just because it surprised me that much, it... it doesn't mean I'm not proud of you or happy for you, all right?" She was unusually silent, which showed him that she still didn't believe him.

"I was hoping," she said in a more composed voice, "that we could go over what would happen if I took the offered spot after I leave Hogwarts."

That wasn't exactly what he had in mind; he didn't want to think about what the Chaser position would entail for him, for them, for their relationship. "What exactly do you mean 'what could happen'?" came Harry's sharp, suddenly defensive question.

"I won't be home much," Ginny went on as if Harry had spoken to her in a more civilized manner, instead of sounding somewhat angry.

"For how long?"

"Harry, relax! Please! I won't talk to you if you're going to be angry and uncooperative with me."

Harry said no more, but he was still unsettled by Ginny's words. "How... long?" he asked again. It took a great effort for him to keep his voice from shaking.

"I don't know, and I won't until I meet the captain of the team. He'll tell me how long I have to be away."

Harry was silent. He had thought that after Hogwarts, they would be able to be together at last. "Do you leave right after the end of term?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," Ginny replied. "I'll come home for a few days, but then I've got to leave." Again, Harry was completely silent. "Harry, just say something, will you?" Ginny's voice was trembling, and Harry could tell she was trying not to cry. Clearly, this hadn't been how she pictured her phone call with him going.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked finally, his tone much rougher than he had intended. "I've already told you that I'm happy for you."

"But something bothers you."

It took a long time for him to answer. "Ginny... I just... I just thought that..." He let his voice trail off, before he finally continued. "You'd said to me that all we had to do was wait until you had finished at Hogwarts, and then we could be together. I've been doing as you asked, I've been waiting. Yes, I want you to play on the team—it's a great honor. But if you leave right after term ends... how much longer will I have to be without you?" The jumble of emotions that plagued Harry's mind were reflected in his tone.

"I know I said that," she replied, her tone becoming as hard as his. "But you can't expect me to just say no to this because of it, can you?"

"I never said you had to!" Harry's temper was beginning to show. "I just said..."

"Harry, come off it, will you? You don't have to repeat yourself; I heard you just fine the first time. Honestly, if you didn't want me to play, just say so!"

"I didn't—"

"Fine, Harry! I'll talk to you later." There was a click, and Ginny's voice was gone.

Harry slammed the phone onto the receiver and shuffled off into the living room, where he sank onto the couch. The telephone call with Ginny had gone horribly. He couldn't understand why he had felt the way he had when she had given him the news. A proper boyfriend would have been ecstatic that his girlfriend had received such an honor, right? What was wrong with him? He really wanted to apologize to her, but would she accept it? Feeling troubled, he turned off the TV, dumped the rest of his tea down the drain, and went into the bedroom.

After showering, he curled up on the edge of his bed, trying to think, to sort through the conversation. He knew he had messed up. He knew he should have immediately congratulated her, instead of bringing up a stupid thing like what she had said earlier that year. It hadn't been her fault she had gotten the offer. He sighed deeply as he felt his eyes closing. He had to work this out with Ginny. He just had to.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry had tried countless times to send Ginny an apology, but Hedwig had never returned with a note back from her. Auror training had been the only thing that kept him from thinking about her. Bailey seemed to take immense pleasure in seeing Harry look so troubled, and he tried to get back at him by increasing his endurance exercises, saying that if he could defeat a powerful dark wizard, he could do more exercises than the others. Ron and Neville kept expressing their outrage whenever Bailey would do this, but Harry kept telling them to be quiet. Having them try to get him out of the extra exercises made him feel almost cowardly. For some reason, he was determined to show Bailey that he wasn't going to let harder exercises get the best of him. Bailey responded by making his exercises for Harry even harder still, and he would often be exhausted by his afternoon lessons with Aidan. The older wizard felt like a mentor to Harry, besides the Minister of Magic himself. He would often notice Harry's exhaustion, but when he would inquire what was wrong, Harry would shrug and say that it was nothing.

With each passing week, the potions, endurance, and combat sessions grew more difficult, but Harry was determined to give them his all, which clearly showed in his work. He was doing best in combat, of course, where he soared quickly through the ranks of trainees. Aidan had known of his skill in the Dark Arts, but he had wanted Harry to reveal it for himself.

It had been five months since the beginning of training. Harry could already feel a change within himself. He was still thin, but his muscles were beginning to form; his body was becoming more built.

Ginny and Harry were finally on speaking terms, but things didn't feel the same. Ron, being Ginny's brother, knew what was going on. He kept reassuring Harry that everything would eventually smooth out, but Harry didn't seem entirely convinced.

Harry awoke to the sound of his alarm, shut it off with a sigh, and heaved himself out of bed. He rubbed his eyes, feeling a slight throbbing in his temples. Ignoring the headache, he got dressed, and headed out the door, grabbing his wand on the way.

He met Ron and Neville at the small diner across from the Ministry, where they sat down and leafed through their menus.

"I'm in the mood for hot cakes," Neville commented, scanning the list of toppings available. "What about you, Harry?"

It took a moment for Harry to realize that he had been spoken to. "Huh?"

"Are you all right?" Ron asked, peering at him closely.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Neville asked. "You don't look fine."

"I dunno... I just have a headache, that's all."

"Maybe you just need something to eat," Ron offered as the waitress came to take their orders.

But Ron had been wrong. Food hadn't been any help to Harry. In fact, all it did was make him feel nauseated. He tried to drink some water before training was due to start, for he knew that Bailey would surely notice if he felt ill, and he would use it to his advantage. He had hoped that time would be his friend, but by the worried looks on Ron's and Neville's faces, his hopes had proved futile.

Everyone immediately began to start their exercises at once, and Harry was trying hard not to let himself fall behind. Half an hour into it, however, he realized that this would be much more complicated than he thought. Bailey had given him a look when he had taken a brief pause to steady himself, and he had glared at him. _You can't let him see you stop,_ he kept repeating to himself. _You can't let him see you slowing down. Keep moving, keep moving._ But he couldn't keep moving. He felt extremely dizzy, and his sides were aching terribly.

He was nearly in the middle of the track when the ground suddenly seemed to pitch and roll. He collapsed to his knees, placing his hands on the grass to steady himself before he toppled over.

"Harry?" Ron called, a bit of a distance behind him. "Are you all right?"

Neville caught up to Ron, and he gestured to where their friend knelt.

"Uh oh," Neville murmured as Harry's face began to turn a sickly pale. "You don't think he'll..."

"I hope not, though I'm pretty sure he might."

"Ron!" Neville pointed furiously behind them. "He's coming! He'll see Harry."

Frowning, Ron and Neville hurried toward Harry, who was still kneeling on the ground. His face looked clammy, and sweat was running into his eyes, blurring his vision.

"POTTER!" came Bailey's yell from a distance. "Get up! There's no such thing as before-lunch breaks!"

But Harry couldn't. By the time his friends had reached him, he was breathing hard, his skin taking on an unpleasant greenish tint.

"Harry?" Ron's face was filled with worry as he touched his friend's shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"Ron... go," Harry managed to croak hoarsely. "Please..."

"No, Harry. You don't look well at all. Let me just..."

"Ron, please, I think I'm going to be sick."

Ron backed up to stand beside Neville just as Harry turned away and vomited violently. By then, several of the trainees had abandoned their laps and were crowding behind Neville and Ron.

Bailey strode up to them, his face lit with fury. "Just because one of you is too weak to handle your exercises does not mean that you all have an excuse to stop! Go on!"

With a glance toward Harry, the others dispersed, grumbling about Bailey. Neville and Ron, however, stayed put. Their expressions showed how worried they truly were. Harry had collapsed onto his side, exhausted, weak, and dizzy from being so sick. His stomach was still flipping and churning, and he knew that if he managed to get himself up, he would be sick again. Why the hell was this happening to him?

As if it couldn't possibly get any worse, he heard Bailey's barking voice. "POTTER, up! NOW! What did I tell you?"

"He's sick, you ninny!" Ron yelled, his face nearly the same shade as his hair.

"Do you want me to report your insolence, Weasley?" Bailey growled. "Don't forget that I"—he pointed to himself for effect—"am your superior! By disgracing me and calling me that, you-"

But Ron wasn't about to let Bailey tell him what he would become or get if he disgraced or insulted him, because he charged forward to Harry's side. His eyes were closed, and he lay completely motionless. "Harry?" Ron whispered, lightly tapping his friend's arm.

Harry's eyes flickered open to show that he was listening.

"Are you all right? You look, well..."

"I know," Harry whispered weakly. "I... I don't feel so well, Ron..."

This statement was what told Ron how bad the situation was. Harry would never say he felt horribly if he could help it. For him to say it now meant that he truly felt sick.

"Don't worry, Harry; I'll go get Aidan." Harry slumped back to the ground in response, his eyes closing. He really did believe that his friend had it under control.

"Where are you going, Weasley?" Bailey growled as Ron marched past him.

"To get someone who will actually help!" Ron retorted angrily, his face burning as he sprinted toward the building where the Aurors were.

Neville took Ron's place beside Harry, Bailey glowering furiously at them the entire time. Harry's face was clammy and pale, and when Neville put a hand to his forehead, he found it burning. He considered checking if Harry had fallen asleep, but as he did, he spotted three figures hurrying toward them. One was Ron—his flaming hair made it impossible to miss him. Neville recognized Aidan as one of the others, but the third he had only seen a few times before.

Bailey turned away from Neville, his face nearly purple with rage. A weak groan came from Harry.

"It's okay, Harry," Neville murmured. "Ron brought Aidan. He'll help you."

As if on cue, Aidan sprinted up to them. He knelt on Harry's other side, placing a hand on his forehead.

"Aidan," Bailey began, but he held up his free hand.

"Don't, Bailey. We'll speak about this later. Go."

Bailey marched away, rolling his eyes and glowering when Aidan wasn't looking.

Ron and Neville had to bite their lips to keep from smiling. Their glee at seeing Bailey be chastised like a child ebbed away, however, as they watched Aidan assess Harry, gently turning him onto his back.

"This young man needs rest," he finally said, looking up at the other man who had come with him. "David, how about we take him home?"

"Sounds like the best plan," the man called David agreed, nodding for emphasis.

Looking worried, Neville and Ron stepped aside to let the two men pick Harry up off the ground. Vaguely realizing what was going on, Harry used the last bit of strength he had to lift himself onto his elbows.

"Be careful, Harry," Aidan said calmly. "Go slowly. We'll support you on either side."

Neville and Ron stepped forward and offered their hands to Harry. He took their outstretched hands and staggered to his feet, his face slowly draining of the little color that remained.

"Slowly, slowly," Aidan kept repeating. Harry hated it, but he felt monumentally grateful for his friends' support. If it weren't for Ron and Neville, he thought he'd have collapsed again.

After taking a few deep breaths, he glanced at Aidan, then at the man on his other side, David. Like Neville, he had seen David only a few times before.

"Ready, Harry?" Aidan asked quietly. There was no mockery in his tone, as there clearly had been in Bailey's remark to the others a few moments earlier. He didn't sound overly worried, as if Harry was about to shatter at any moment. He sounded as concerned as anyone would be over someone they were friends with and cared about a lot, which was how Harry liked people to act around him. He wanted them to treat him like a normal person. Harry nodded, taking another deep breath.

"Yeah," he managed weakly. "I, I am."


	7. Chapter 7

Harry was glad that he had enough sense to go home. Not even ten minutes after the Aurors had dropped him off, he had to dash into the bathroom, barely making it in time. After having to make several frantic trips back and forth, he gave up, finally curling up and managing to sleep for about twenty minutes on the bathroom floor.

Ron couldn't wait to be released from training so that he could check up on his friend. He had called Harry when he had gotten home, but he hadn't received an answer. With Hermione's urging, he Apparated to Harry's house, landing on the front porch.

He knocked several times, calling, "Harry?"

When he got no answer, Ron looked around to make sure nobody was looking, before he pulled out his wand and murmured, "Alohomora."

The front door opened with a soft click, and he stepped inside, closing it behind him.

Only the bedroom light was on, and Ron could hear the faint murmur of what he only recently knew to be a television.

"Harry?" he called as he padded down the hall toward the bedroom. No answer.

"Harry?" He stood in the doorway, peering in. As he had suspected, the television was on. The covers on the bed were pulled back, and it was obvious that Harry had been laying down; but he wasn't there now.

"Harry?" he called again. Still, he got no answer. Perplexed, Ron entered the room, peering further and further in.

Finally, he arrived at the bathroom door. It was open slightly, but he noticed that the light was on. "Harry?" he called softly as he pushed the door open.

He had finally found his friend. Harry was sprawled on the tile floor, his feet beside the cabinet beneath the sink, his head resting against the base of the bathtub. If Harry hadn't looked so ill, Ron might have laughed.

With a frown, he knelt beside Harry, placing a hand on his arm. "Harry? Mate, wake up." Gently, Ron shook Harry's shoulder, gazing at his friend. A soft groan let Ron know that Harry was finally coming around.

"Mate?"

"Mmmmmm... Tired. Just a few more minutes... I swear on my wand I'll get up..."

"Harry, it's just me."

"Mmmmm... Ron...?"

"Yeah. Come on, mate, you need to go back to bed."

"Huh?"

"You're on the bathroom floor, Harry," Ron said, grinning slightly.

"Oh," Harry mumbled, though he made no move to get up.

"Aren't you uncomfortable?"

"It's cold," Harry murmured, his eyes closing.

"So why don't I help you get back into bed?"

"Okay..." Just as Ron was going to help him, though, Harry asked, "But what if...?"

"What if you get sick again?" Ron offered helpfully.

"Yeah." Ron thought for a moment, before he grinned. "Got an idea, Harry. Come on."

He helped his friend out of the bathroom and to the bed. "Get comfortable." Harry did as he was told, curling up under the blankets. Ron could see him shiver slightly, no doubt from the chills his fever brought.

"You shouldn't be here, Ron," Harry mumbled, his eyes already nearly closed. "I don't want you to catch it."

"Shhh, Harry." Ron replied dismissively. He brought out his wand and, suddenly, Harry and the mattress began to shift so that it was now positioned in front of the bathroom.

"There." Ron grinned at his handiwork. "Better, Harry?"

"Mmmmm," Harry replied, already drifting off to sleep. Ron chuckled and reached over, ruffling Harry's hair playfully.

"I'll check up on you later, Harry." Still smiling, Ron left, closing and locking the front door behind him.

The sound of the phone woke Harry. He brushed off the blankets, his shirt drenched with sweat. He staggered into the kitchen, trying to push his hair out of his eyes. He managed to pick up the phone on the last ring.

"Hello?" He sounded hoarse and weak.

"Harry?" Ginny's worried voice immediately answered. "Merlin, are you all right? Ron told me you had gotten sick during training, but you sound terrible!"

"Thanks, Gin," he croaked, slumping into the nearest chair as he felt his legs begin to wobble.

"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry, you know what I meant."

"Yeah." He wasn't angry with her, but he just felt too weak and ill to do much talking. "So... what's up?"

"Nothing really. I just... I wanted to see how you were doing."

Something in Ginny's voice told him that that wasn't entirely true. Harry could tell that she was holding something back. "Oh."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just thought that you'd called about something else."

"What, a girl can't call and check on her boyfriend?" Ginny's tone was suddenly defensive, as if she really was trying to keep something from Harry.

"I never said that," he retorted, a slight edge to his voice.

"What did you mean, then?" The last thing Harry wanted was for another argument to start, but it seemed like he couldn't back out of it now.

"You know perfectly well what I mean. We've spoken about this several times."

"Harry, honestly!"

"No, Ginny. Please, I, I need an answer."

Ginny sighed irritably, and there was a long, awkward pause as neither of them refused to speak. Finally, in a resigned voice, Ginny mumbled, "I haven't given it much thought."

Harry exhaled in exasperation.

"What do you want me to do, Harry?" Ginny's voice was rising in volume. "This isn't exactly an easy decision to make!"

"I know," Harry muttered, feeling exhausted all over again. Another long pause stretched between them.

"Why do you insist on knowing so soon, Harry?"

"So soon?" Harry scoffed, sounding dismayed. "Soon? Ginny, it's April! Term ends in two months!"

"I'm aware of that, Harry."

He sighed, feeling that this topic was hopeless to keep pursuing. "Never mind."

"You don't want me to accept it, do you?" Her tone was horribly accusing.

"Ginny, where the hell did you get that from?" He was trying hard to keep his temper at bay, but it was becoming much harder as the conversation progressed.

"Oh, isn't it obvious?" Ginny retorted. "Why else would you get angry when I told you I hadn't decided, and why you avoid talking about it any other time?"

Harry had nothing to say; Ginny seemed to pick up on this, because she went on.

"And when I told you, I thought you'd be more excited, but you weren't. I thought you'd warm up to it after awhile, but everyone kept saying that there was something odd about how you took it. I didn't listen to them, thinking that..."

But Harry was barely listening anymore. He was shaking, not just with the slight chill from his fever, but with an intense, unexpected anger.

"So that's it, then?" he growled, the anger boiling over. He had interrupted Ginny's rant, but he didn't care. "You're basing it all off of what others think of my reaction? I already told you, I am happy for you! What do you want from me?"

His explosion seemed to catch Ginny off guard, but not for long. "You could've at least shown how much you care, Harry!"

Harry's free hand clenched into a fist, and he felt himself shaking even more. "I'm sorry." Harry's voice was low, and, despite his efforts, his voice was quavering with anger. "I'm sorry I'm not what you want me to be."

Another silence. "Fine," Ginny said quietly. "You want to be like this, Harry? Okay. I _have made up my mind. I _will take the offer."

Harry felt shock overwhelm most of his anger, but he kept quiet.

"And no, I won't stay for the two weeks after term ends, if you don't want me to."

"Ginny..." He knew he had made her angry, and perhaps he deserved everything he was getting, but it felt like she was going overboard.

"No, Harry! I don't want to hear anymore. It's obvious that you don't care enough about this, or me!"

"Whoa, hey, I never..." But she didn't let him finish.

"Sometimes, Harry, I wonder if you're unhappy that I got an offer to play on a team, and you didn't!"

Harry's anger returned instantly. Where was she getting all this from? "That's..." But he had no time to say what it was, because Ginny cut him off again.

"If that was it, you should have just said something instead of going through the motions of acting like you're actually happy for me. I never thought you were like that at all, Harry. But, whatever. I'll call you later."

Before Harry could say anything, there was a click, then silence. Harry slammed the phone down and got to his feet. _Too _fast, he thought as a sudden wave of dizziness and nausea overwhelmed him. After taking a few deep breaths, Harry slowly made his way back to his bedroom.

Feeling miserable, he collapsed onto the bed, wondering what else he could do wrong.


	8. Chapter 8

Things between Harry and Ginny seemed to be at a standstill. He had attempted numerous times to apologize, but he received nothing in return. Before Ginny had gotten a chance to contact her family, Harry had called Ron and told him what had gone on. He hadn't been happy, mostly worried that things between his sister and his best friend weren't right, but Harry kept reassuring him that things would eventually smooth out. Still, it didn't mean that he wasn't stressed out about it. He wanted more than anything for Ginny to understand that he hadn't meant to be so angry with her.

But if his situation with Ginny wasn't on his mind, training was. Bailey's grudge against Harry had only worsened after Aidan had reprimanded him. Auror training never seemed to have a dull moment; from seven thirty in the morning until half past four in the afternoon, the trainees were constantly bombarded with new techniques, information, and potion recipes, making combat sessions all the more challenging. Harry excelled greatly, much to the delight of those around him. After Patronuses, they had a lecture on Dementors and what their known powers precisely were.

With Auror training and his situation with Ginny, Harry was pushed to the limit. The days seemed to pass too quickly for him to do much of anything, and before long, they morphed into weeks, then into a month. Before long, April was coming to a close. Still, Ginny and Harry had yet to have much of a conversation, mostly due to her desire not to speak with him. All of the stress seemed to be piling up, and by the time Harry was heading home after training that afternoon, he felt gloomy and tired. Not up to cooking anything, Harry found himself trudging into the small diner across from the Ministry.

It was a small restaurant—the sitting area was only slightly larger than that of a fast-food establishment, and, at that moment, only three of the tables were occupied. Even the decor was simple—it was made to look like America in the early 1980's.

"Harry!"

He paused as he heard a female voice calling to him.

"Harry, over here!"

As he looked up, he spotted Hayley making her way toward him, smiling. Her long, thick hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she was still in her Healer-in-training uniform.

"Hello," Harry said with a smile as she approached.

"Hey. Did you just finish training?"

"Yeah." At that moment, he wished he could get a look at himself in a mirror. Standing beside Hayley suddenly made him nervous.

"How'd it go?" she asked, unperturbed by his silence. "They're not making you guys kill each other anymore, are they?"

A sort of half smile crossed Harry's face. "No, luckily for me."

Hayley smiled slightly, but her expression quickly became solemn. "I think you would've beat him," she said quietly. "I know you're good, Harry."

Harry went slightly red. "I dunno," he said with a soft sigh. "Most of my accomplishments weren't simply because of me. I had help nearly all the time-"

"Or it was luck. I remember you saying that."

Harry sighed, frowning. "Yeah."

After a moment, Hayley's gaze shifted to Harry's face. "Why don't we sit down? We can talk then."

Harry nodded and followed Hayley over to a table in the corner. They sat, and Harry stared absently at the menu in front of him. He suddenly didn't feel all that hungry anymore.

"Harry?"

He looked up to find Hayley gazing at him, her warm, brown eyes radiating concern.

"Is something wrong?"

"Oh, er, no, not really."

Hayley looked dubious, but she didn't push him further. He hadn't really remembered the waiter coming, or even ordering, so that when food came, it shocked him somewhat. Hayley nibbled on a noodle, her eyes occasionally shifting to Harry's face.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Hayley asked as Harry began to pick at his cheeseburger.

He nodded, but didn't say anything.

For a while, they remained that way, nibbling their food, not speaking. He wanted to talk to Hayley, but he didn't like the idea that she would have to listen to everything that was bothering him. Still, not being able to talk to Ginny, and trying to keep the gravity of the situation from Ron left him with nobody to talk to, no one he could truly confide in. He knew that Hermione would listen to him, but because she was with Ron, he didn't want to bring it up with her.

"Hayley?" he began, before he could stop himself.

She looked up. "Yeah?"

"Well, I was just wondering..." But he had no idea how to phrase his question properly. "What can you do to have a conversation with someone when they don't want to talk to you?"

Hayley blinked, taken aback. She seemed to think carefully for a long moment before answering. "Do you know why the person isn't talking to you?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I do."

"And have you tried to work out the reason?"

He sighed softly, nodding.

She was quiet again, looking thoughtful. "I don't really know what to tell you except that it may be best that you just wait, and let the other person decide how they want to respond."

_I already have, _though, Harry wanted to argue. _For months _now. But he simply nodded and accepted her answer.

For a little while longer, the two of them talked and ate, discussing their respective fields of training. By the time they were putting the remains of their dinner into to-go boxes, Harry was feeling quite good. Talking to Hayley made him feel more optimistic; he felt like there was finally someone he could converse and laugh with and not be judged or hounded with questions.

Even Hayley seemed to notice the change in Harry. He had looked somewhat sad and tired when she had seen him come in, but as they left the small restaurant, he was smiling and looking less stressed out.

"Thanks, Hayley."

"For what?"

"For, well... just for being with me today."

Hayley smiled easily at him. "It was fun."

"Yeah, it was."

For a long moment, they stood near the door, gazing at each other. Neither of them spoke. Harry inhaled slowly as he leaned against the wall, letting his eyes close for a moment.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Hayley touched his arm, a slight frown crossing her face.

"Yeah," he said quietly, his eyes opening. "I was just thinking." He shrugged, trying to seem dismissive.

After a few minutes, they went their separate ways. Harry closed the door behind him, locked it, and removed his shoes, thinking about the afternoon he had spent in the diner with Hayley. He placed the to-go box in the refrigerator and went into the bedroom.

All evening, he could think of nothing else but the two hours in the diner. Hedwig returned without a note yet again, and this seemed to bring Harry's frustration back. Ginny only called when she was near a phone. He considered calling the owner of the small Muggle shop Ginny called from, but the prospect of allowing someone else in on what was going on detoured him from doing so. He knew he would achieve nothing more from using Hedwig, though, which left him confused and searching for another way to communicate with her.

A sudden tap on the window made Harry nearly fall off the bed. Hedwig wasn't out, and he didn't own another owl. He figured that it may be Ron's owl, Pigwidgeon, or even one from the Ministry. A sliver of hope ran through him that maybe, just maybe, it was a Hogwarts owl from Ginny, but the small bit of hope had vanished when he unlatched the window to find a sleek, beautiful bird he had never seen before.

He couldn't be completely sure, but he doubted that this owl came from Hogwarts. All the same, there was a note tied to its leg, and for a second, Harry wondered if it had flown to the wrong house. But Hedwig seemed to recognize it; she hooted from the perch in her cage, to which the other owl responded with a delighted hoot of its own, as if they were old friends. Perplexed, Harry glanced from the owl, to Hedwig, then back. The owl seemed to grow impatient; it clicked its beak and stared up at Harry with amber eyes. Hedwig stared at Harry, too. Her expression seemed to say that she knew more about this owl than Harry.

Shaking his head, Harry untied the note from its leg. As he unfolded it, the owl joined Hedwig on her perch, where they hooted conversationally. The note was written in neat writing, a script he didn't recognize.

Harry,

I hope you truly feel better. You looked happier when you left, but I couldn't be completely convinced. I hope you know that whenever you need anything, I'll be here. I've also written my phone number on the back, in case you need something and the message will take too long to receive by owl. Again, I hope you're doing all right.

Hayley

Harry smiled. So, the owl belonged to Hayley. Hedwig seemed to already be friendly with it, because they were still hooting happily to each other.

Harry pulled a piece of parchment from the table beside his bed and wrote her a quick reply, telling her that he appreciated what she had done for him and that he would gladly return the favor.

Her owl seemed to be expecting the delivery; she had hooted to Hedwig again, before hopping onto Harry's arm, holding out her leg as Hedwig often did. Harry chuckled softly as he tied the note to the owl's leg. It hooted at Hedwig one last time, then at Harry, before it flew off.

Harry gazed out the window for a long while, lost in thought. It was only when Hedwig landed on his arm that he realized that he was staring out the window. With a blink and a sigh, he pushed the window down and did the latches. Sensing his preoccupation, Hedwig hopped onto his shoulder. Harry reached up and stroked her feathers. She hooted softly in his ear, giving it a very gentle, affectionate nip. He stood there for a long while, letting himself get lost in the feel of Hedwig's feathers against his fingers.

After a few moments, he sat down on the edge of the bed and rested his chin in his hands. He couldn't stop thinking about the two hours he had spent with Hayley. Besides Ron and Hermione, she seemed like one of the only people who really, truly understood him. For once in what seemed like a long, long time, Harry didn't feel trapped. He didn't feel suffocated in stress. He felt... good. A light prod from Hedwig made Harry jump. He must have fallen asleep, because his glasses had slid down the bridge of his nose, and he felt his eyelids grow heavy.

Hedwig flew over to Harry's pillow and hooted, as if to beckon him to lay down. With a slightly sleepy smile, he obeyed, crawling underneath the blanket. With Hedwig's feathers lightly stroking his cheek, Harry found himself drifting off not long after he had gotten himself comfortable.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry still hadn't received anything from Ginny. Despite his attempt to conceal his anxiety, Ron was beginning to notice that things weren't right. He tried to question Harry, but each time he would, Harry would tactfully change the subject.

Auror training was progressing quickly. Aidan had shortened their endurance training so it only lasted for three quarters of an hour. Though no one had essentially complained, Aidan had told them that it was because they needed to start focusing on other skills they would need if they wanted to become Aurors. This news excited them all, especially Harry. He had grown to become used to the normal routine of doing endurance for most of the day, and though he was now in much better shape because of it, he looked forward to more hands-on work.

Things with Bailey had even calmed down; Aidan seemed to keep an eye on him when he was near Harry, which pleased Ron and Neville.

"He won't dare do anything to you when Aidan's nearby," Ron had commented with a grin as they were taking a short break after their endurance exercises one morning.

Still, Harry hadn't let his guard down. Perhaps it was just because of everything he had already been through, but he knew better than to celebrate this small accomplishment.

"So," Ron began as he, Harry, and Neville jogged along the well-worn track together. "Have you and Ginny worked things out yet?"

Harry frowned. Ron would ask this question every day without fail. "No."

"What? Why not?"

"I've told you," Harry answered wearily. "She won't have a proper conversation with me."

"I'll send her a letter with Pig. She _has to listen to me."

Harry grimaced. The thought of Ron interfering with his and Ginny's problems wasn't something he liked. "No, Ron. I'll manage." It was a weak reply, he knew, but what more could he say?

Ron snorted. "Look where that's gotten you, mate."

Just as Ron was about to say something else, Bailey appeared. "Hey!" he hollered at them.

"Hey, yourself!" Ron called back, glowering at the grass.

Bailey glared at him, rolling his eyes. "Watch it, Weasley!"

"Or what?" Ron retorted, continuing to jog alongside Harry and Neville. "I'll disgrace your authority?"

Giving the three of them cold stares, Bailey growled, "Quit your chit-chat and hurry up!"

"As you wish, oh conceited one," Ron mumbled.

They passed Bailey as they jogged. As they did, Bailey watched them, before he suddenly got an idea. Making sure they couldn't see him, he pulled out his wand and murmured a Concealment Charm. Grinning, he followed the trio, listening to their conversation.

"Come on, Harry," Ron began again, as if Bailey hadn't interrupted them. "Just this once, I swear. And I won't say anything mean, I promise. I just want you guys to work things out."

Seeing no way out of it, Harry nodded reluctantly. "All right, fine. But I promise you, I'll deny it if she says that you told her I wanted you to do it."

Ron nodded. A bit of a ways off, Bailey was strolling leisurely along, his gaze searching the field. He had removed his Concealment Charm, and was giving off the pretense of watching the other novices. He made sure to keep far enough away from Ron, Neville and Harry so that he didn't seem like he was listening, but kept close enough so that they were still in earshot.

Ron pulled a face. "What d'you guys think he's looking for?"

"Probably someone he can bully," Harry remarked with a shake of his head. "Or some excuse to call us out again."

Ron rolled his eyes as they rounded a corner, passing the cone that marked three quarters of the track. "I'll send it as soon as lunch comes round," he promised. Harry nodded, giving his best friend a forced smile. Unnoticed by either of them, Bailey was smiling, too.

Harry couldn't stop thinking about Ron's letter to Ginny all afternoon. True to his word, he had sent it as soon as they were on break, even before he had bought lunch. He hadn't let Harry see what he had written, which made Harry feel even more nervous. By the time Potions and Poisons was over, Harry had grudgingly accepted the fact that it was already done, and he would just have to deal with whatever came next.

"Let me know if she calls," Ron said to Harry as they walked out of the Potions and Poisons room.

Harry sighed and nodded, waving to Neville as he walked away.

"Good luck!" Ron called after Harry.

"Thanks," he muttered, not feeling quite so lucky at all.

Harry didn't want to Apparate today. He wanted to take a walk and sort through his jumbled thoughts. He really hoped that Ron's letter was going to be a benefit to his and Ginny's relationship, not a hindrance. If Ginny did contact him and decided to have a proper conversation, he wanted to explain to her exactly how he felt about everything: their relationship, the offer she had received from the captain of the Holyhead Harpies, what he thought this would all mean for their future...

A sharp snapping sound brought Harry out of his daze. He stopped and whirled around, but there was nothing behind him. Shaking his head, Harry turned back around and continued on, taking up a comfortable jog.

After about half an hour, Harry reached his house. He was slightly out of breath as he unlocked the front door and slipped inside, but he felt good. He went into the kitchen and poured himself a tall glass of water, which he drank quickly. Just as he had placed his glass in the sink, the phone rang, startling him. Suddenly filled with trepidation, he slowly crossed the room and picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Harry." He almost dropped the phone. Ginny's voice was soft, and she sounded somewhat nervous.

"Ginny?"

"Hey," she said again, trying to sound less anxious. "How are you?"

"I, I'm fine," Harry answered automatically. It struck him as somewhat odd that she was starting the conversation with polite but insignificant matters.

"That's good."

"How, how're you?"

"Me? I'm fine."

"That's, er, good."

Harry hated small talk. He wanted desperately to get on with the main reason for her call before he psyched himself out and didn't bring up any of the things he wanted to discuss. He couldn't help but notice, though, that the number which she was calling from was different.

"Whose phone are you calling from?" he asked.

"I bought one of those mobile ones," she replied simply. "I thought it'd just be easier if I had one of my own."

Harry nodded, but said nothing for a long while. It was Ginny who finally spoke. "So, I got Ron's letter."

This was the ice-breaker Harry needed. "Oh. Listen, Ginny, I hadn't meant to seem so rude and selfish when you told me about the Holyhead Harpies. I was just surprised, because, well, because I thought that after you finished your last term at Hogwarts, we'd be able to be together, like we'd planned. I hadn't meant to drive you away; I hadn't meant to make you think I didn't love you or care. I know I shouldn't have acted the way I did, and I'm sorry." Harry was speaking very fast, as if he feared being interrupted. "Please, Ginny, please believe that I hadn't meant anything. I love you, and I'll support you in any decision you make."

The silence that followed Harry's words was mercilessly long. Harry held the receiver tightly, his muscles tense with all of the emotion that was coursing through him. He wished she would answer, instead of remaining so horribly quiet.

"I know," was her reply.

Harry stared at the phone, feeling confused. "What?"

"I know, Harry. I understand how you feel, and I'm sorry, too."

For some reason, her answer did nothing to ease the tension inside him. "B... what does this mean for us, Ginny? For our relationship?"

She sighed, a long, drawn-out sound, as if she was about to explain something which she had already done numerous times. "I don't know, Harry. I can't say, exactly."

"But, but, can't you still come after term ends, at least for a week?"

"No. I've already told the captain that I'd train with him until then."

Harry could feel the tension inside him become tighter; it felt like a rubber band that was nearly close to snapping. "But, Ginny—was

"I'm sorry, Harry. I really am."

Feeling a wave of misery wash over him, Harry inhaled deeply, trying to keep a lid on his emotions. "All right," he whispered.

Ginny didn't speak for a long while. When she said, 'I'll call you later, Harry, okay?', he couldn't make himself respond. "I promise I will," she replied. Again, he didn't speak. "Goodbye, Harry."

The click shattered the tension in Harry. He slumped against the counter, trembling. He had achieved nothing. His one hope of convincing Ginny that he was sorry had been lost. She said she understood, but she wouldn't be returning after term ended. He clutched the receiver in his hands, staring at it without really seeing it. He jumped as a voice spoke in his ear.

"If you'd like to make another call, please hang up and—"

He slammed the receiver down on the cradle, feeling angry and depressed. Nothing. He had achieved nothing.

Without really knowing what he was doing, he got to his feet and entered the bedroom. He stared at a piece of parchment lying on his night table. The phone number written on it seemed to shout at him, to remind him why he had come to retrieve it in the first place. He picked up the parchment and went back into the kitchen. Without really looking at his fingers, he dialled the number and waited.

"Hello?" The person answered on the second ring.

"Hayley?"

"Harry?" She seemed to snap to attention at hearing him sound so shaken. "Harry? Are you all right?"

No answer. "Harry?"

"You, you said I could call if I needed to talk, right?"

"Yeah, of course!"

"Well... I need to."


	10. Chapter 10

Harry pulled open the door to the diner, his gaze flitting from table to table. He spotted her sitting alone at the furthest one in the back. He took deep breaths as he made his way toward her, trying to keep his composure. He had managed to pull himself together after they had hung up, but all the effort he had put into it was proving to be futile, because everything that had happened during the phone call with Ginny was coming back to him.

"Harry," Hayley whispered as he approached. She could see it in his face; this was all bothering him much more than he had wanted to tell her over the phone. Now, she wished they had thought of somewhere more private to meet.

Still trying to take deep breaths, Harry sat down across from her, clasping his hands together and staring down at the salt shaker.

Hayley didn't speak. She merely watched him carefully, her kind eyes searching his tense face. Harry exhaled shakily, willing himself to look up at her.

"She's not coming," he whispered, his voice shaking. "She said... she said she already made the decision not to."

Hayley frowned, keeping her eyes level with Harry's. "Why?"

"I dunno. She said she had already spoken with the captain, and the decision was final."

Hayley's frown seemed to deepen. Could Quidditch captains really do that? Could Ginny really be placed in such a position where her decision not to return home for the two weeks between term's end and the beginning of the Quidditch season was contractual? She shook off her doubt and focused on Harry. She could see that to him, it was more than just being able to see her. To him, it was a matter of how their relationship would last through even more separation. The Quidditch season would take the majority of the next year, and even with holiday breaks, it didn't seem like an adequate amount of time for their relationship to remain strong. Ginny's decision not to see Harry before the start of the Quidditch season seemed, to Hayley, what would make or break them as a couple.

Hayley let Harry tell her what he wanted to, and she didn't push him to talk when he remained quiet. They remained in the diner for nearly forty-five minutes before one of the waiters snapped at them for not ordering anything. They ordered some fried shrimp and mozzarella sticks just to keep him quiet.

Something suddenly caught Hayley's attention. The silhouette of a figure was visible near the door. When she had looked at it, the figure seemed to notice her. She recoiled slightly when the figure met her gaze.

"Harry—" But just when Hayley had spoken, the figure disappeared.

"Hmmm?" Harry looked up.

"I just..." Hayley glanced back toward the door, but the figure was gone. "Nothing, never mind."

Harry stared at her, confused. She shook her head and shrugged. No use worrying Harry about this, especially when she couldn't be entirely sure that there had even been someone there at all.

Still, Hayley hadn't been able to shake off the feeling that someone was watching them. She had thought about bringing it up to Harry, but each time, she had decided not to. In order to distract Harry from his thoughts of Ginny and herself from the mysterious figure, she kept up a conversation about things she knew would make Harry happy. Soon, both Ginny and the mysterious figure were out of their minds, and after the appetizers had come, they had decided to actually have dinner.

By the time Harry had paid (he had insisted, and when Hayley hadn't been looking, he had slipped the money to the cashier), and they had walked out of the restaurant, they both felt content and a bit sleepy.

"Thanks for everything," Harry said, holding the door open for her.

Hayley smiled appreciatively at him as they exited together. "There's no need to thank me," she replied. "That's what friends are for."

Harry smiled as he leaned against the wall near the glass double doors. Every time he spent a few hours with Hayley, he felt like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Every time he was with her, he felt as if the chaos going on in his life was manageable, as if he could face everything with his head held high as long as he had someone like Hayley to talk to and make him laugh. His speeding thoughts were interrupted by the feel of someone's fingertips against his own.

"Harry?" Hayley was scrutinizing him, her gaze shifting from his face, to his hands, to his shoes, then back up. "Are you all right?"

Instead of sounding reluctant, as he nearly always did when he answered, he smiled authentically. "Yeah."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Positive."

Hayley smiled at him, clearly happy that he was. "I'm glad." She could see it in his face—he did look happier. He wasn't as tense, and his smile didn't look so forced.

He cleared his throat, suddenly looking a little nervous. "I, I guess I should be going," he said softly. "I've taken up a lot of your time already."

Hayley made a face. "Harry Potter, please, just please."

"What?" They were both smiling now.

"I don't have anything else to do."

"Gee, thanks," Harry had tried to sound hurt, but the corners of his mouth had twitched, giving him away. "That makes me feel good."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Hayley said, rolling her eyes playfully. "You know what I meant."

"I know," he said, smiling.

For a long moment, they both stood together, their backs pressed against the cement wall. "I really should get going, though," Harry said softly.

"Yeah," Hayley said. "Me, too."

But neither of them moved for a long while. For Harry, this evening was one of a very few in his life that seemed to make him feel like he could accomplish anything he wanted to, as if his life was like that of any other young person. Finally, he forced himself to straighten. Hayley followed suit, retying her long hair.

"Good night, Harry," Hayley said, smiling.

"G'night," Harry replied in an undertone. He stifled a yawn as he gave Hayley a gentle, friendly hug.

"Call me if you need anything else, all right?"

Harry nodded and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose again, before he turned to go. Just as Harry was walking away, Hayley spotted something. The silhouette of the figure stood behind a large, overgrown shrub, staring after Harry. Hayley made to call Harry back, to tell him to stop, but the figure's gaze held her. Its eyes were blank and cruel-looking, and Hayley could tell that the figure was male.

She hadn't just seen things, then. She had indeed seen someone watching them earlier. By the time she looked up, Harry was far down the road, and his shadow was becoming smaller and smaller as the seconds passed. Suddenly fearful, Hayley glanced back to the bush. But the figure was there no more.

Shaking her head, Hayley reflexively gripped her wand, which was tucked into the pocket of her jacket. She needed to tell Harry, she realized. She had to; if someone had been watching them all evening, there had to be a reason. She took a deep breath and willed herself to focus on her house. Finally, she Disapparated.

Harry stepped out of the bathroom, the steam from the shower was almost as soporific as dinner had been. Yawning, he climbed into bed, switching on the television and setting the sleep timer. He didn't fall asleep right away, though. Instead, he lay there, thinking about everything. The fact that Ginny had decided not to return home after the end of term meant that, despite what she said, she still doubted him. At least, that was the conclusion Harry came to. Hayley had proven her word that she would be there for him whenever he needed someone. She hadn't pressured him into speaking when he didn't want to, and she'd listened quietly when he had.

Despite his worries about Ginny, sleep came easily to him. He dreamt about nothing in particular—small bits of recent memories flashed through his unconscious mind as he slept.

A sound seemed to brush his ears, though it sounded distant. After a moment, the sound grew louder until it reverberated in his ears.

Harry awoke with a start. He stared at the time on his digital alarm clock. Eleven ten. He had only slept for about an hour. With a start, he realized that the sound that had woken him was the ringing of the phone. He slid out of bed and dashed into the kitchen, taking a deep breath as he picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Harry." A jolt ran through him. It was Ginny, and Harry could tell that she wasn't happy.

"Hey, Ginny."

Their earlier conversation came rushing back to Harry, and he leaned against the counter. He could already feel his heart begin to beat faster, his muscles tensing ever so slightly.

"Hey." That was all she said, and Harry had begun to wonder what she had called about when she spoke again.

"I have to ask you a question, Harry, and I'd like you to be completely honest with me."

The request confused him, but he agreed all the same. "Okay."

"What were you doing tonight?"

Ginny's question caught him off guard, and he stared at the phone, nonplussed. What reason did she have for wondering, and why did she sound so unmistakably annoyed and angry? He could tell that she had been trying to cover it up with a pretense of insouciance.

"Well, er, I went to the diner by the Ministry. You know, the one with the 1980's theme."

"Were you with someone?" Judging by her change in tone, Harry's words hadn't been the answer she had wanted to hear. As soon as Ginny had spoken, he immediately thought of Hayley. What did Ginny know? What did she think? A small part of him considered telling her that he hadn't gone with anyone. After all, Hayley had only been with him because he wanted to talk to her. Was that really significant enough to tell Ginny? Things between them were already tense, and Harry wasn't exactly keen on stirring up the pot any further. Still, he knew that it was better just to tell her the truth now and know that he had told her, rather than keep this from her and have her find out another way. That would surely get him into more trouble.

"Yeah, with Hayley. You remember her, the girl at—"

But Harry cut himself off when he heard Ginny exhale on the other end. What had he said this time? "What?"

"So," she said in a voice barely audible. "You _were with her."

Harry frowned. He could have thought this was all some bizarre dream, but the reality of it was as plain as day. Why did Ginny suddenly sound so furious? He hadn't done anything wrong tonight, and he was going to make sure she knew that.

"What have I done now?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Why don't you ask yourself that question, Harry?" she replied crossly.

"I don't know where you got your information from," Harry retorted indignantly, "but I can promise you that Hayley and I weren't doing anything wrong. We just talked, that's all."

His temper was rising, and it was obvious in his tone, but he didn't care. Why was she assuming that he and Hayley had done anything?

"That's not what I heard," she remarked, sounding just as irritated.

"Oh?" Harry's temper was rising quickly, but he wasn't going to bother trying to contain it. "And who did you hear all this from?"

"I don't think that's any of your business, is it?" she snapped.

He could hear the distant sound of murmuring. Of course, he thought bitterly. She was in her dormitory, and all of her friends were probably listening. He wondered why girls treated these kinds of things like big shows they were free to watch and gossip about.

"Actually, it is," he said angrily. "Seeing as it involves me and some inaccurate information."

"Inaccurate?" Ginny asked, a slight, humorless laugh following her question. "Or was it just one of the things you've seemed to be hiding from me?"

"Hiding from you?" Harry's tone was incredulous. He couldn't believe that she was actually accusing him of something like this.

"Merlin, Ginny, what else? First, you say that I'm not happy about you getting the offer, and now, now you accuse me of, of cheating on you?"

All the anger he had worked so hard to keep in check was returning with a vengance. "You're just going to believe what someone else has said to you? Merlin, Ginny, they could be lying to you for all you know! I can't believe you're actually believing them over me!"

"Don't you start yelling at me!" Ginny shot back. "I'm just telling you what I was told, that's all."

"And, again, I'd like to know who you're getting your information from."

"I've already said that I'm not saying, haven't I?"

Harry's patience was at its peak. He exhaled angrily, gripping the receiver so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.

"I've told you the truth. I've answered your question honestly. I don't know what else you want from me."

A period of silence followed Harry's words, and for a long moment, he was convinced that she would hang up. An exhale on her end let him know that she was still there.

"You know, Harry? I just, I don't think I want to be with you and have a serious relationship if you keep this up."

"Keep what—"

But she kept on speaking as if he hadn't said a word. "If you wanted to be with someone else, you should've just told me before, and I would've never bothered. We both could have saved loads of time, and—was

"Damn it, Ginny!" Harry protested. His free hand had clenched into a fist, which he had slammed against the kitchen counter in frustration. "I have already told you! Hayley. and. I. are. _NOT. together!"

Ginny sighed; it seemed, to Harry's intense annoyance and frustration, that she didn't believe him.

"Whatever, Harry. I'm just, I don't think you and I should be together."

"Wait, what?" Harry's voice trembled with outrage.

"You heard me, Harry," she said, sounding oddly resigned to Harry's ears, which angered him further. "Until you've decided what—and who—you really want, I don't think we should be together."

"Ginny—"

"No, Harry. I've got to do this. I've got to focus on my goals after Hogwarts, and all of this... it's just stressing me out."

Harry's fist slammed against the countertop a secondtime. The motion nearly split his knuckles, but he paid no attention to this.

"Merlin, how many times must I tell you?" he suddenly roared, all of his stress and negative emotions boiling over. "Hayley and I are—"

"You've already said you guys aren't anything," Ginny replied somewhat impatiently. "I've got to go. Bye, Harry."

And the sound of the soft click from the other end implied that the conversation was over.


	11. Chapter 11

Harry leaned heavily against the bar, his eyes glassy, his stare unseeing. He couldn't believe what had happened. He had been so sure that Ginny wouldn't doubt him, that she would have eventually believed him. After all, he hadn't lied to her. He had been completely honest with her. So why had she been so angry with him, and who had been her supposed secret informer? Who was it that seemed to know that he had been with Hayley that night? He had not told anyone that he was going to the diner, not even Ron.

A lot of the anger he had felt had left him by then; it was replaced by an unexpected sadness. Feeling suddenly depressed, he let the receiver slip from his grasp. It fell to the floor with a clatter.

The feeling of deep melancholy that overwhelmed Harry was one that he did not like, a feeling that he could recall only all too well.

His movements stiff and automatic, he bent down and retrieved the dropped phone. Taking a deep breath, he reached over, picked up the piece of parchment with Hayley's number on it, and dialed.

Almost instantly, there was a soft click, and he could hear Hayley's voice.

"Harry?"

"Hey, Hayley."

"Harry? Are you okay?" Her concern was immediate.

"Er, I, I don't know," he answered honestly, if a bit hesitantly. "I, I... I need to talk to you."

"About?"

"Tonight, when we were at the diner... did you see anyone, er, watching us?"

For a long moment, Hayley didn't answer. She drew an audible breath before she spoke. "No... Why?"

"Because Ginny called me not long ago, and, well, someone told her that we had been at the diner together."

Hayley gasped. Harry frowned. "What?"

"Harry," she began softly. "I think I did see someone watching us, when we had ordered our appetizers." She was talking very fast now, a note of panic in her voice. "At first, I thought I was just seeing things, but when we were outside, and you had left, I saw someone looking at me."

This seemed to be just what Harry needed. So, someone had indeed been watching them, and whoever it was had to be the one who had told Ginny. But the question was, who had it been?

"Did you see what they looked like?"

"No, I only saw their eyes. I know it was a guy, though, I could tell that much."

"But who would go to the trouble of not concealing his eyes?"

"Beats me," Hayley said. "Is it possible that whoever it was messed up their Concealment Charm?"

"I reckon it's possible."

For a long moment, neither Harry nor Hayley spoke. Harry just couldn't get himself to focus on his desire to know who had seen them; his argument with Ginny was bothering him much more than he felt comfortable with.

Hayley seemed to guess as much, because she sighed softly and said, "Harry, why don't I come over?"

Harry knew it shouldn't have happened, but his desolate feelings lessened, if only slightly.

"I mean, I know you may not think it'd be the best idea, because of everything that's going on, but—"

"I'd like that, actually," he interjected.

"Are you sure?"

Even though the reason for his stress was the fact that he and Hayley had been seen together, he didn't care about that now. He had no one—Ginny wouldn't speak to him, and Ron probably wouldn't either when he found out. Even talking to Hermione was out of the question, because she and Ginny were such good friends, he supposed she'd tell him off or something, and he honestly wasn't in the mood to explain to anyone else what had happened or listen to a Hermione lecture at the moment.

"Yeah, I am."

"Well, all right. I'll be there in a few minutes."

After he told Hayley where he lived, he went into the living room and flopped onto the couch.

Whether he had done the right thing by inviting Hayley over, he wasn't sure. For the first time that evening, Harry attempted to sort through his thoughts and feelings, picking them apart as best he could.

He didn't understand what had caused all of this to happen. It was obvious to Harry that whoever had told Ginny about himself and Hayley wanted her to know; it was obvious that they wanted this to break them up. But why? That seemed to be the question that Harry desired the answer to most.

He thought about his feelings for Ginny. Yes, he loved her. He had, truly, since his sixth year. He had known her since he had started at Hogwarts and met Ron's family; they had known each other for all of their adolescence. They spent large portions of the holidays together, enjoying what was, for Harry, like being part of one of the best families in the world. For a long time, he had felt protective of her, like an older brother might. He had always loved Ginny, but it hadn't always been the love that he had felt two years before, or now.

But there was also the matter of Hayley, and the friendship they now had. Though Harry's increasing meetings with her were purely friendly, he couldn't help but feel that he was beginning to like her more than a simple friendship called for. He hadn't lied to Ginny, though. He and Hayley weren't anything serious. The only time they had arranged to meet up was that evening; every other time had been mere coincidence.

He forced himself to put aside his feelings about Hayley. After all, how real were they? Could he truthfully say that he was beginning to feel something for her, or was it just because she was helping him so much?

He dismissed the latter option immediately; he knew it wasn't all because of that. But what was it, then?

He could feel a slight headache building in his temples. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, attempting to relax at least a little bit. For a few moments, he concentrated on breathing. In, out. In, out. Slowly, in, out...

Harry jumped as a knock came at the door. He realized that he must have dozed off, because he felt somewhat dazed.

"Come in," he called, clearing his throat.

The door opened after a moment, letting in aslight draft. Hayley stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She crossed the room, kneeling beside the couch where Harry lay.

"Hey."

"Hi," he murmured, yawning slightly as he began to sit up.

"You don't have to do that," she said. She reached into the pocket of her sweater and pulled out her wand, conjuring a rather comfortable-looking chair. She placed it beside the couch and sat down, glancing at him.

Harry rested his head against the arm of the sofa. Despite his efforts, the pounding in his temples hadn't gone away. He sighed wearily, rubbing his eyes.

"You should sleep," she murmured. "You look tired."

"I'm fine," Harry replied, but he yawned as he spoke.

Hayley sighed, but smiled and shook her head. "Oh, Harry. You're not that difficult to read, you know."

"Thanks," he said, yawning again. He gave her a sleepy smile.

"You're welcome," she replied, smiling teasingly at him in return. "Seriously, though, you should sleep."

"But I'd asked you to come over," he protested. "It wouldn't be polite of me if—"

"I believe _I had offered to come over," she cut in smoothly, giving him a friendly smile. "besides, I wanted to come and make you feel better. I think making you feel better calls for you getting some sleep. And besides, I could make you some tea, if you like."

Her offer made him think of Ginny, and sadness began to seep into him again.

"All right," he said quietly. "I guess... I guess I will."

"Good," Hayley said, giving him another soft smile.

He yawned yet again, stretching himself out completely on the couch. "_Accio," he murmured, picking up his wand from the coffee table.

Blankets came hurtling out of the hall closet and Harry's bedroom. He rolled onto his side as his blanket landed on top of him, spreading itself out; the other landed on Hayley's chair.

"Thanks," she said.

"Mhm," Harry replied, his eyes already closed.

Hayley smiled gently as she leaned back in her chair and pulled a book from her purse.

She opened the book and flipped to the marked page just as Harry rolled onto his back, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.

With a slight grunt, he opened his eyes and pulled off his glasses. He let them slip from his fingers; they fell to the carpet with a small thud.

He sighed drowsily, his eyes closing as he turned so that he lay facedown. Hayley smiled as she watched him for a few moments, before she went back to her book.

For a long while, the only sounds in the room were the occasional rustling of paper as Hayley turned the pages of her book, the humming of the air conditioning system—which had to be given proper attention to be heard—and Harry's soft snoring. Hayley blinked, the light from her wand shining on the page she had just read.

With a yawn, she marked her place and closed the book. She slid it back into her handbag as she stretched her somewhat cramped muscles.

The sound of the phone made her jump, and she nearly knocked her handbag over with her foot. She glanced at Harry, who was fast asleep with his hands folded underneath his chin, then toward the kitchen where the cordless phone rang loudly.

Harry groaned in protest, before he finally stirred, his eyes slowly opening. The sound of the phone registered with him then, and he sat up with a frown. His not-fully-awake body refused to move, and his eyes felt heavy and gritty with sleep.

Grumbling somewhat incoherently, he staggered into the kitchen. He fumbled with the receiver, finally willing his fingers to press the correct button.

"Hullo?"

"Honestly, Harry! D'you think I'm stupid?"


	12. Chapter 12

There was no mistaking the anger in the voice on the other end.

"Ginny?"

"Yes, Harry." She sounded impatient with him, as if he had asked a question that was inappropriate to her reason for calling.

He blinked several times as he tried to read the time on the phone. One fifteen. Why was she calling him so late?

"So, you're not going to explain, then?" she demanded. If she had been furious with him before, it was nothing compared to the acidity in her voice now.

"Explain what?" His sleep-befuddled brain had suddenly snapped to attention. "What could I have done now?"

"Oh, I believe _you should be answering that question."

The horrible way she seemed to accuse him made his muscles tense, and a knot formed in the pit of his stomach, making him feel slightly nauseous.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

A slight creak and an exhalation of breath let Harry know that Hayley must have gotten to her feet, but he didn't look to see if she had come in.

"Don't play dumb, Harry Potter!" Ginny said angrily. She had almost yelled, which made Harry wince and bring the receiver away from his ear. "You know damn well what I'm talking about! Your other girlfriend!"

"What other... Oh my God, again with all of this?" Harry's temper was rising steadily.

"Didn't we talk about this not three hours ago?" she was saying, her voice quivering with hardly suppressed anger. "I told you already! If you don't have enough sense to decide what and who you want—"

But it was Harry's turn to interrupt. "How many times do I have to tell you, Ginny? Hayley and I are NOT together! We're not, all right? If that's all you've called about, I don't—"

"But why, then, was she at your house?"

Harry was rendered speechless. He stared at the receiver, his eyes wide. How on Earth had she found out? Almost impulsively, his gaze shifted to the window. He could see nothing but the inky sky with half the moon barely visible. He saw no sign of life—or, rather, no sign of someone watching his house.

"Just as I thought," Ginny muttered.

"Look," Harry argued, the volume of his voice increasing with his anger. "I don't know who the hell is telling you all this rubbish, but I swear on my wand that—"

"Save it, Harry!" she growled. "I don't want to waste my time hearing what I have all night."

"But, it's not—"

"If you can't give me any more than that, I'm sorry, Harry, but we're done."

Harry was gripping the receiver so tightly that his fingers were cramping painfully, but he didn't care. He longed to break something, anything.

"So, that's it, then? You're just going to take someone else's word on the matter? Have you actually stopped to consider how reliable their knowledge is?"

Hayley stood near the kitchen's entrance, her face set into a deep, concerned frown. Harry's face was a deep shade of red, and he was breathing somewhat unevenly.

"That's ironic, coming from the boy who acted on every bit of information he received, regardless to whether it was real or not."

Harry froze. Her words had cut into him like an emotional dagger. He felt a tearing somewhere inside him, as if someone had just pulled the scab off of a wound that had recently begun to heal.

"That's not, that doesn't, you can't..." Thoughts of his dead godfather immediately came to him, repressed memories flowing like fresh blood from a gash. Sirius's death had been his fault—he hadn't needed Ginny to tell him so. Images too hard to bear: the corridor of the Department of Mysteries devoid of Sirius, the prophecy, the Death Eaters, Bellatrix, Sirius arriving to rescue Harry and his friends, he and Bellatrix dueling, the jet of green light from her wand, the horrible smile that lit her face, Sirius's body falling, falling...

Hayley noticed the change in Harry. She wanted so much to help him, to understand what had caused him so much pain.

Harry had lost all will to defend himself. He simply stared at the phone, feeling so horrible that he thought he could be sick then and there.

"You aren't going to say anything?" Ginny asked, sounding annoyed. She seemed to have not noticed what she had said to him.

"No," Harry said finally. His voice was shaking so much that he wasn't entirely sure she'd heard him. He suddenly felt dizzy, and a horrible burning sensation prickled at the back of his throat. He desperately needed some water.

"I can't believe you," she went on. "After, after I thought you were the best guy on this entire planet. It's not my fault you finished school before I did. You'd said we could still be together, and I'd been stupid enough to think that you had been right." She laughed humorlessly at her own words. "When you started training, you got so busy that we hardly wrote to each other anymore, and you were always too tired to spend any time with me when I came home for the holidays. I was stupid enough to think that would fix itself, too, and when I was asked to play for the Holyhead Harpies, and you weren't happy, I figured you'd come round, but you never did. Everyone always said that there was something dodgy with the way you were acting, but I didn't listen. And now this happens? Damn, Harry. I thought, I thought you'd at least respect me enough to tell me about her, but you didn't. I suppose you hoped I'd never find out?"

Harry didn't answer. He just stared at the receiver in his hand. He felt suffocated in sadness, in the negative emotions that he had worked so hard to conceal since the war had ended. Ginny went on without seeming to notice his unresponsiveness.

"Well, guess what? I have. I can't believe I let you fool me into thinking you actually loved me!"

"Ginny," Harry managed to choke out. "Please don't."

"What, too scared to face the truth? Are you really going to tell me that now, you suddenly don't want to hear about your mistakes?"

"Ginny—"

"For years, I thought you were just this sweet, misunderstood guy who needed someone to listen to him. But I know that our relationship meant nothing to you. You never loved me. This was all just some stupid game to you, wasn't it?"

"No, it—"

"You think that just because you're 'legendary Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and vanquished Voldemort'"—she spat these words as if they tasted like dirt—"that you can have any girl you want without lifting your wand?" She made a sound that resembled a humorless laugh. "You don't care about anyone's feelings but your own, Harry. You've had us all fooled for years, haven't you?"

Harry was shaking his head back and forth. His lips were moving, but no sound came out. He couldn't fathom how Ginny had even thought any of this was possible. Of course he loved her. He had never considered their relationship a joke.

"The sweet little boy Mum thinks you are. If she's right in describing your parents, you're nothing like them, Harry."

These words were like a blade being driven forcefully into Harry. He dropped the receiver, slumping to the floor. Hayley made to assist him, but he put up a hand, which trembled violently.

Ginny was saying something else, but he couldn't make out the words. His stomach twisted into a painful knot, and he covered his face with a quavering hand. Sweat and tears were pouring into his eyes, making his vision blurry.

He couldn't believe that the person who had managed to hurt him so much was Ginny Weasley. He had thought that she would be the one to understand him the most, that she would be the one to know how he felt at any given moment.

Knowing he was in for more, he picked up the receiver with his free hand. His fingers wouldn't wrap around it properly, and he was perspiring profusely, making his grip slick.

"... be ashamed of you right now. I thought you were better than this, Harry. And to think, we let you come over every summer, we sent you birthday and Christmas gifts... You were probably laughing at us behind our backs, weren't you? You could afford everything, while we had to buy everything secondhand."

"That's... that wasn't my fault!" Harry cried in a strangled voice. "I, I wanted to help you guys so much I, I..." But his words were lost as she continued.

"I can't do this anymore, Harry. I thought you were different, but I was wrong." She sighed deeply. "Be happy with her, Harry. Maybe... maybe she can give you something I couldn't." Her voice trembled as she spoke, and Harry knew that she was about to cry.

She took a long, shaky breath, and, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, "Goodbye, Harry Potter."


	13. Chapter 13

Harry stared at the receiver long after Ginny had hung up. The tiles were cold against his legs, but he seemed to pay little attention to that. The knot in his stomach hadn't loosened at all—it had only become tighter.

How could all of this have happened in just one night? How could he have lost Ginny and have her think so little of him now? She hadn't even considered that he and Hayley were just friends. She had immediately assumed that there was more to it. What puzzled Harry most was the question of how she knew that Hayley had come over? Hayley hadn't seen anything when she had come in; if she had, she would have told him, right?

Ginny's words forced themselves painfully through his mind. They'd be ashamed of you... after we gave you birthday and holiday gifts... You probably laughed at us behind our backs...

Why did she suddenly hate him so much? He had never once thought to betray the Weasleys like that—they meant way too much to him. They were more of a family to him than the Dursleys ever were, and he had lived with them the longest.

The more he tried to figure out exactly what had happened, the worse he felt. What _would his parents think? He hadn't noticed how truly miserable he was until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Harry."

He blinked as he looked up. He could see Hayley's face, though not very clearly.

"What... what happened?"

Harry couldn't bring himself to speak. He could only stare unseeingly at her, his thoughts becoming somewhat incoherent.

"She, she broke up with me," he managed finally. His voice was a strained whisper. "She, she..." But he couldn't. He couldn't talk about it, he couldn't bring himself to openly face Ginny's horrible accusations.

Humiliation joined the sadness that overwhelmed him as tears slid silently down his face. He looked away from Hayley, hiding his face in his hands.

Hayley frowned as she knelt beside him. She wouldn't make him tell her what had happened—that was between him and Ginny. Still, she inferred that it must have been bad, seeing how hurt Harry was.

Harry collapsed onto his side and curled up into a tight ball, his hands pressed against his face. His breathing came in short, ragged breaths as he rocked back and forth, the jerky movements of his shoulders the only indication that he was crying.

He just couldn't understand it. What had made Ginny say all of those things? What had he done to cause all of this?

He had no concept of time—he wasn't quite sure how long he stayed there, curled up on the cold tile floor, stifling his sobs with his hands. He had just begun to slip into a dazed sleep when he felt a hand brush against his own. He jumped slightly; his eyelids flew open and he looked up.

"It's all right, Harry," Hayley murmured gently. "It's just me."

Harry's face was pale and tear-streaked, his eyes were red and puffy, and there were slight bags underneath them.

"I'm s-sorry," he stammered, his voice little more than a strained whisper.

The corners of her mouth turned down in a slight frown. "For what, Harry?"

"I, I, I shouldn't... I shouldn't have dragged you into this. It, it's my... it's my fault... None, none of this... it's all, just, just a big mess..."

Hayley brushed the hair out of his eyes as she continued to gaze at him. "This isn't your fault, Harry. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine. I knew you and Ginny were going through all of this, and I still chose to come."

"Yeah, but, but you were helping me."

She said nothing for a long while, merely concentrating on comforting Harry.

Harry's throat felt horribly dry, as if he hadn't had anything to drink in days. He tried to summon his wand, but because he was so tired, he could barely get the incantation to his lips.

Almost as if she had read his mind, Hayley got to her feet and got him a glass of ice water.

He gave her a grateful look as he forced himself to sit up. He took the glass with shaking hands and managed to take a long drink from it before it was becoming too difficult to keep his hands steady. Hayley bewitched the glass so that it held itself upright while he drank.

"Thanks," he whispered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You're welcome."

He was perfectly content to just remain there, staring into space. He wasn't sure how long he had been doing it, before Hayley knelt beside him again.

"Come on, Harry," she coaxed gently. "You need to go back to sleep."

With great effort, Harry opened his eyes and staggered to his feet. Hayley took his hand as he swayed slightly on the spot. He let Hayley lead him into his bedroom. He felt dazed, as if someone had placed a Confundus Charm on him that wouldn't lift.

He climbed into bed as the blanket came in, spreading itself over him as before. The mattress was a welcome relief to his aching muscles. He had just begun to slip into sleep when something seemed to nag at him, bringing him back to consciousness.

"Hayley?" he whispered in a hoarse voice.

"Yeah?"

"P-please... d-don't leave. I, I don't, I don't want to be alone." Harry hadn't realized how much he had wanted her to stay until he had said it. He did feel somewhat childish for saying so, but he couldn't help it now.

For a long moment, Hayley felt conflicted. She wasn't sure it was wise, given the circumstances, but seeing Harry now... She couldn't leave him alone, not when he was like this.

"All right," she said finally.

Harry gave her a grateful look, before he exhaled and closed his eyes. Exhaustion eradicated every tangible emotion, and he was asleep within minutes.

Hayley stood in the doorway for a moment, listening to Harry's soft snoring. Sleep seemed to have transformed him completely—he know longer looked tense or ill or depressed. Instead, the muscles in his face were relaxed, and he looked as content as he could be.

With a sigh, Hayley tiptoed out of the room. She went into the living room and sat down on the couch. She sighed and stared distractedly out the window. Knowing that all of this had been because she was friends with Harry bothered her. She felt personally responsible for Harry's pain. All the same, she wanted to be there for him, to help him in any way she could.

The aroma of food wafted into Harry's bedroom from the kitchen the next morning. The sizzle of something frying was one of the first sounds Harry heard. The delicious scent of bacon made his mouth water.

As he lay on his back, taking in the smells of breakfast, the events of the previous night came to him, and his good mood evaporated instantly. He felt tears sting his eyes at the memory of Ginny's words. Feeling miserable all over again, he rolled onto his stomach so that his face was buried in his pillow. He wasn't going to cry, he would make damn sure of that.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he heard the metallic scraping of a spatula on a pan. He heard Hayley clear her throat, and it sounded as if she was heading toward the bedroom. He could hear the slight creak as the door to the bedroom opened, letting the smells of food in even more.

"Harry?" Hayley whispered tentatively.

She glanced at his still form, creeping quietly to the side of the bed. Harry opened his eyes, blinking a bit as he rolled over so that he was facing her.

"Were you awake?" she asked, giving him a grin.

"Kind of," he answered truthfully. "The food woke me up."

For a protracted moment, neither of them spoke. Hayley's gaze shifted nervously from Harry's face to the door, then back again. She feared asking how he was, for she knew that doing so would probably bring the events of the previous night back to him.

"Hungry?" she asked.

"Definitely." He grinned at her as he picked up his glasses and slid out of bed. He stretched, allowing the muscles in his back to crack before he sighed and went into the bathroom.

Hayley smiled slightly as she left, returning to the kitchen. As she spooned eggs onto a plate, she thought of what had occurred the night before. She couldn't help the guilt that still plagued her. What if she had just decided to write to Harry, instead of making him meet her or the other way around? She sighed, placing several strips of bacon and two pieces of toast on the plate. She could feel the bit of steam that the hot food gave off as she set the plate down on the table.

She kept thinking about everything even as Harry emerged from the bedroom. He was running his fingers through his tousled hair.

"Smells amazing," he commented, giving her a slight smile.

She returned his smile, her cheeks the slightest bit pink.

"I try."

Harry sat down at the table, fiddling with his napkin for a moment.

"Are you going to have any?" he asked Hayley as he nibbled on a bacon strip.

It was neither too greasy nor too dry; it made Harry's stomach feel extremely empty, and he realized just how hungry he was. Hayley smiled, but shook her head.

"Nah, I ate a bit just now."

"So you're going to make me eat all this by myself?"

She laughed at his expression. "Kind of, yeah. Why? You don't think you can?"

"I didn't say that," he said, grinning as he finished off his bacon.

Harry had finished nearly all of his eggs when the phone rang. He stared at it, a sort of odd expression transforming his features. The spoon of eggs and cheese remained frozen halfway to his mouth. He looked as if a Basilisk had petrified him.

Hayley glanced warily at the phone, then at Harry. She didn't need him to tell her what he wanted.

She felt her muscles resist her as she got to her feet, but she forced herself to retrieve the phone and hand it to Harry. This was definitely against her better judgment; she didn't want Harry to return to the state he had been in last night. But she also knew that it wasn't her place to make that decision. For his sake, she wished that it wasn't Ginny.

Looking extremely nervous, he glanced at the caller ID.

Harry's blood ran cold. The spoon in his other hand fell onto the plate with a clatter. He stared at the phone as his face suddenly lost all of its color.

"Harry," Hayley whispered. "What's wrong?"

The ringing of the phone sounded much too loud in Harry's ears. "It, it's Ron..."


	14. Chapter 14

Even after the phone had stopped ringing, Harry could still hear it reverberating against his eardrums. Ron had finally found out, he was sure of it. He knew he shouldn't have ignored Ron's call, but the thought of having Ron tell him off as Ginny had done was something he wasn't quite ready for. If Ginny could say all of the things she had, he could only imagine what Ron would say.

He stared at the now silent phone, his mood declining just as rapidly as it had risen.

Hayley frowned as she gazed at Harry. The change that had come over him was striking.

"Harry?"

Harry felt the usual knot forming in his stomach, and he found he was no longer hungry.

His plate floated over to the sink, where it washed itself,, thanks to a flick of Hayley's wand. She kept gazing at him, her concern becoming more and more pronounced.

"Maybe I should go," she whispered, tucking her wand back into her pocket. "I don't want to cause any more trouble for you, Harry."

She turned to leave, but seeing the look on Harry's face kept her from taking a step further.

Harry's face was somewhat pale, and he was staring at the phone, his eyes half closed. She could tell that he was afraid.

He jumped as the phone rang again, a piercing, long sound. Harry didn't have to look at the caller ID to know who it was. He knew he should answer and just get it over with, that it would be much easier in the end, but he just couldn't do it. What if Ron wouldn't listen either? He knew how protective Ron was of Ginny. Thinking about how he had reacted when she and Dean had fought made him sick.

Ron had called three more times, but each time Harry had decided to answer, he would become unnerved at the last minute.

Hayley had tried to make him feel better, but it hadn't worked. Around one that afternoon, she decided to go get some things to make lunch.

"All right," he had said, though he was much too anxious to eat.

Hayley had just walked outside when the silhouette of a figure made her gasp and stop short. The figure was tall, redheaded, and male. He had just Apparated onto Harry's lawn. When they locked eyes, Hayley could see the pure fury in them. She knew with complete certainty that this was Ron.

"Harry," Hayley called from the doorway. "I think, I think you might want to come out here."

Ron paused a few yards away from Hayley. He stared at her, shock and anger plainly clear in his expression.

Behind her, Hayley heard footsteps, and she didn't have to turn around to see that Harry was coming. Harry froze in the doorway. The anxiety that had taken hold of him had become unbearable.

Ignoring his shaking hands, he stepped around Hayley and made his way onto the lawn, stopping a few feet from his best friend.

"She was right, then," Ron whispered, not looking at Harry. "You _are—"

"Please, Ron," Harry pleaded. "Please, just listen to me! It's not what you think, I swear! Hayley and I are just—"

"Just friends, yeah, Ginny said you'd say something like that."

Ron's tone was horribly accusing, which didn't make Harry feel any better.

"That explains why you didn't answer when I called."

"I, I'd wanted to," Harry protested. "I, I just thought..."

"Thought what?"

"I thought you wouldn't give me a chance to explain."

"Explain what? By the looks of it, Ginny was right."

What Harry had feared was actually happening. He knew Ron too well—seeing the look in his eye told Harry that he wouldn't be easily persuaded.

"She only came over because I asked her to," Harry said, though his words had done nothing to change Ron's expression. "I tried to explain to Ginny that Hayley and I weren't anything serious, but she didn't listen."

"Why didn't you just tell me about this earlier, Harry, instead of acting like you guys had fixed things?"

"Because I knew you wouldn't understand!" Harry cried with frustration. "And I never told you we'd fixed things!" His hands were trembling even more now.

Ron sighed. "I knew letting my sister date my best friend was a mistake," he muttered. "I should have known this would happen from the beginning."

"Ron—"

"Harry, come off it, will you? I came here to talk to you, to hopefully prove her wrong. I told her that it didn't sound like you, that you would never do that to her—"

"And I didn't!" Harry shouted indignantly.

Anger had joined Harry's desperation to prove to Ron that he had told Ginny the truth. If Ron had initially believed that he wouldn't cheat on Ginny, then why did he think so now?

"Then why do I see you with a girl, Harry?" Ron demanded, anger radiating off him as if it was tangible.

"I _told you," Harry said angrily, enunciating every word. "She came over to talk, that was it."

Harry was suddenly too angry to feel anything else. Why wasn't anyone believing him?

"All right, Harry," Ron said, sounding resigned. "I've heard enough."

Harry's anger had faded as quickly as it had come; it was replaced by incredulity. _You should have expected this, _though, he thought. He was almost angry at himself for thinking that he could actually make Ron see his side. Ginny's words echoed through his mind once again. Your parents... they'd be ashamed of y... you probably laughed at us behind our backs... you could have anything you wanted, while we had to get everything secondhand...

He gazed at his furious best friend, feeling defeated. He knew that there was no way he could make him understand, even if he drank an entire vial of Veritaserum.

"So, that's it, then?" Ron asked. He was looking everywhere else but at Harry. "You're not going to say anything else?"

"What more do you want from me, Ron?" Harry's voice was back to being little more than a whisper. "I've told you the truth. There's not much else I can say."

"Well, then, if that's all," he took out his wand. "I'm leaving."

Harry made no move to stop him. The only thing Harry did was take a few steps back.

"See you on Monday," Ron muttered, before he vanished with a loud _pop.

Harry stood there for a long while, staring vacantly at his hands. Hayley's voice barely registered with him.

"Harry, I, I really think I should go."

Slowly, Harry lifted his gaze so that he was looking at Hayley. She hated seeing him look so sad, but she couldn't stay knowing that he was going through all of this because of her.

Harry was shaking his head slowly, as if she was speaking in a language that he couldn't comprehend.

"No." The word barely made it past his lips. "No, Hayley, please... not you, too."

Seeing Harry so upset tore Hayley apart, but she knew that if she stayed, it was bound to make things worse.

"I'll come back," she whispered, crossing the distance between them and placing her hand on his shoulder. "I promise."

Harry nodded, but he still looked unconvinced. He trudged toward the house, keeping his gaze downward. He stood in the doorway and glanced at Hayley. He barely heard her say that she would check up on him; he barely saw her as she departed.

As he went inside and closed the door, he felt all of the day's emotions crash on top of him all at once. Tears slid silently down his face as he locked the door and dragged himself into his bedroom. An overwhelming sense of loneliness pressed in on him, making him feel as if he was carrying a heavy weight on his shoulders.

Ginny hated him, Ron was furious with him, and Hayley had left. Hermione was bound to be angry with him, too. In a matter of hours, he had lost everyone he could possibly care about. As he collapsed onto his bed, his body quivering with the sobs he had held back for hours, he wondered how it had all come to this, and if it could possibly get any worse.


	15. Chapter 15

"Brian Tanner?"

"Present."

"Jeremy Davis?"

"Present."

Where is he, Aidan thought with annoyance as he spared another glance toward the door. It wouldn't be the first time Bailey had been late for a meeting. He put a tick beside his own name and glared down at the parchment. Everyone was here—everyone except for Bailey. Trying not to let his annoyance show, Aidan sighed, folded the parchment neatly, and placed it into a folder.

"All right, guys," his brother, Christian, began.

The others snapped to attention as if a switch had been flipped. The murmur of several people talking amongst themselves had stopped abruptly, leaving the room absolutely silent.

"All right," Christian said again. "So, we're meeting to discuss the next steps for all of the new trainees, including the character and aptitude tests, and which ones will remain in next year's program."

Aidan listened to the discussion between his fellow Aurors, though his mind had begun to wander. The fact that Bailey was late shouldn't have troubled him so much—this was an occurrence that was all too often. Yet, something kept nagging at him, something that, despite his efforts to dismiss it, kept returning.

Not only did Bailey not show up to the meeting, but Aidan hadn't seen him at all since yesterday afternoon, and for the past several days, he told Aidan that he had things to take care of. But Aidan wanted to know what exactly those 'things' were.

"Aidan?"

Christian's voice cut through to him, and he blinked. "Sorry, what?"

"I was just saying that you and I had written down the names of the trainees we felt would score high on the upcoming exams. You _did bring them, didn't you?"

"Oh, yes, they're right here." Trying to cover up the fact that he hadn't been paying attention to the meeting at all, Aidan pulled another piece of parchment from the folder on his lap. He glanced at it briefly before he unfolded it.

For the next hour, they discussed each trainee in turn, noting each one's skills as well as their shortcomings. In that time, Bailey did not show. No one but Aidan seemed to worry about this, however, which was just as well. Aidan knew that few people bothered to talk to Bailey, and even fewer actually liked him. This wasn't without reason, however. Bailey seemed rather antisocial, and he often came across as narcissistic and unable to see others' successes and skills if it meant saying that they were better than his own.

Still, Aidan's natural instinct to look out for others kept him from dismissing the fact that Bailey hadn't shown up. By the end of the meeting, it was clear that he wouldn't come.

"Aidan, are you okay?" Christian asked as the brothers left the Department of Magical Law Enforcement office together. "You seem sort of off or something."

"I'm fine," Aidan replied, shrugging. "I was just thinking."

"About?"

Aidan sighed; he wasn't sure if he should express his concern about Bailey to Christian. He considered just dismissing it completely, but the look that Christian was giving him was all-too-familiar.

"Come on, Aidan. You know you can't fool me. I know something's bothering you."

Aidan frowned slightly. Christian was the older of the two, with Aidan being twenty-six and Christian being thirty-seven. Aidan was the more introverted one, preferring to stay home and read a good book rather than go to a pub (which is exactly what Christian preferred to do).

Aidan had also been the academic, earning seven N.E.W.T.'s in his seventh year (Transfiguration, Herbology, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Ancient Runes and Arithmancy), while Christian had earned the four necessary for Auror training (Potions, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Transfiguration).

Also, in terms of appearance, Christian tended to be the more favorable among women—his flawless skin, well-built body, and his constant need for excitement and company were generally preferred over Aidan's shyness, his somewhat blotchy skin, and his seriousness. Though Aidan was the one people generally went to for advice on matters such as relationships and other life issues, people, especially women, tended to think he was more of the "sweet" kind of guy that they wanted as their friend, but they never quite considered as a relationship option.

Christian nudged Aidan in the ribs, making him jump slightly.

"Merlin, you're really out of it tonight, Aidan. Come on, little bro. Tell me what's got you all distracted?"

Reluctantly, Aidan decided to tell him and get it over with. If Christian was going to start teasing him, he wanted it to be done with now.

"It's just... Bailey didn't show up to the meeting tonight."

"And?" Christian's tone of voice had changed instantly, so much so that it shocked Aidan into silence. The teasing tone Christian often took on when he spoke to him was now gone completely—what replaced it was something like a sudden sharpness, as if speaking about a violent criminal. It was a tone he recognized, not because Christian used it often, but because it was the same manner of speaking which Aidan himself used frequently.

"Well'' I, I just..." He shook his head, suddenly feeling somewhat stupid. "I dunno," he finally muttered. "I just thought that, that it was odd."

"You know he never comes to the meetings," Christian muttered, sounding irritated. "He's just angry because you and I are in charge of the trainees and he isn't."

Aidan forced himself to nod, but he didn't think that was all there was, though he knew that Bailey had started acting differently toward him when Minister Shacklebolt had assigned Christian and Aidan as leaders of the training sessions.

"Don't worry about him, Aidan," Christian said dismissively, as if they were talking about a spider on his bedroom wall. "I know you and him are friends and all, but honestly, you know how he is. He's probably at the Leaky Cauldron trying to get women to go out on a date with him."

This did not make Aidan laugh, as he was sure Christian's intention had been. Instead, it only made him ponder Bailey's absence even more.

Christian sighed. He could see that he wasn't going to be able to drive his brother's thoughts from Bailey. Christian had never liked him—even when Aidan and Bailey were at Hogwarts, there had been something about him that bothered Christian. Not counting his overconfidence, of course.

"Come on, little bro," Christian said finally. "Let's go pay Madam Rosmerta a visit, shall we?"

Aidan sighed—he knew Christian was trying to get him to think about something other than Bailey's failure to attend the meeting, but he smiled nonetheless.

"Okay."

But not even a mug of steaming, delicious butterbeer allowed him to think of anything but Bailey. His natural instinct for perceiving that something was amiss was still nagging incessantly at him, even after he and Christian had seated themselves at a table.

At that moment, Christian was telling him about a great new pub one of his friends had gone to recently.

"He says it's brilliant," he was saying. "Aaaaand, who knows? Maybe we could go this weekend."

"Mmm, maybe as in you and Jeremy?"

"Yes, and no. I meant maybe, as in me, Jeremy, _and you."

Aidan made a face. "Come _on, Chris. You know I can't stand pubs."

"Why not?"

"Because," Aidan said, sounding as if he had said this thousands of times already—which he had. "Getting drunk off my arse, spilling beer all over myself, and being sick the next day isn't exactly my definition of a fun evening."

"Oh, and reading the latest mystery novel is?" Christian challenged.

"Ooh, I didn't think the word "novel" was even in your vocabulary," Aidan shot back. "Isn't that too, what's the word, sophisticated and 'uncool'?"

Christian rolled his eyes. "Please. That's exactly why you don't have a girlfriend."

Aidan snorted. "Oh, and you do?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. D'you remember Keyana?"

Aidan raised his eyebrows. "Bradley?"

"Exactly the one. Well, she and I are getting serious, if you know what I mean." He gave his brother a wink.

"Ah," Aidan said in a sort of sarcastic manner. "And is she okay with you going to this oh so brilliant pub with Jeremy?"

"I'm sure she will be," Christian replied nonchalantly, taking a long swig from his mug.

Aidan's eyebrows rose further. "And how do you know that?"

"Because I'm inviting her to come along, too. You know she likes a good pub as much as I do."

"Mhm." Aidan's eyebrows continued to rise until they could no more, and he occupied himself with taking a sip from his mug. "So, in other words, you want me to come along as a third wheel, then."

It was not an exact question, for Aidan had had to do that sort of thing before. Christian would deliberately arrange something and invite Jeremy and whichever girls they were both seeing at the time. The so-called 'fun gathering' would also involve Aidan being hauled along by Christian, and Jeremy bringing along some 'friend of his girlfriend's' to accompany Aidan. These "dates" were, for Aidan, catastrophic—either he would have no connection whatsoever with the girl and they would end up on opposite sides of the room, or the girl would get so drunk that she would be hanging all over him, which made Aidan extremely uncomfortable.

"Yeah, thanks, but no thanks."

"Aw, are you sure, little bro?"

"Yep. Positive."

"I swear, it won't be like those other times."

"You've used that line already," Aidan mumbled, nibbling on a pasty absentmindedly.

Christian frowned, sighing. "Come on, Aidan, please? It'll give you an excuse to get out of the house."

Aidan shook his head. "Nope. I'm fine, thanks."

"Party pooper," Christian muttered as he finished off his butterbeer.

"Thank you," Aidan replied, taking another bite from his pasty and another drink from his mug.

Christian sighed. "We've decided to go next weekend, since Jeremy's sister's hosting that party tomorrow night. I think it'll be all right; I've asked Jeremy if I can bring Keyana, and he said that the more people, the better, and I've asked her if she wants to come, and she's agreed. So I think it'll be a blast, it's a shame you're not coming, Aidan. I promised I wouldn't set you up, and I... Aidan?"

Aidan was staring out the window beside their booth. His expression was a mixture of intrigue and confusion. A figure had been hurrying down the street, but Aidan hadn't been able to see its face because a hood had been pulled over its head.


	16. Chapter 16

"Aidan?"

Christian was gazing at his younger brother, a slight frown on his face. Aidan's posture had changed; he no longer looked relaxed and sarcastic. Instead, he was slightly tense and alert.

"Aidan, what—"

"Didn't you see?" Aidan murmured in an undertone.

"See what?" Christian asked, his frown deepening. "Are you all right, little bro? Madam Rosmerta didn't put anything in your drink, did she?"

"No. I can't believe you didn't see it, it was in plain sight—" Aidan picked up his mug and half-eaten pasty and was pushing his chair in hurriedly when Christian ensnared his brother's free hand against the table with his own.

"Will you _please explain what the hell you're going on about?" he demanded impatiently. "You know I don't like when you're all secretive like that."

"Oh, for God's sake, Chris," Aidan hissed. "If you would only pay more attention!" Without saying anything else, he shoved his brother's hand away and finished pushing his chair in. He then turned around and strode purposefully toward the exit. Christian followed, looking annoyed.

Aidan didn't look back to see if Christian was coming. He didn't stop until they were standing on the street corner. He craned his neck to see along the darkening alley, but there was no one.

"Aidan, _please," Christian groaned, standing beside his brother. "What the hell's—"

"I'd seen someone," he said in a low voice.

Christian frowned. "So?"

"They looked like they were in a rush, and I could swear they had a hood over their head."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Christian was growing impatient.

Aidan sighed. "Isn't it obvious, Chris? If only I could've seen their hood—"

"God, little bro. You've gone off your rocker. Come on." He dragged Aidan down the street and, before he could protest, he Disapparated, landing in front of their house.

It was a modest-looking home, with a neatly trimmed lawn. The paint on the front door was in need of some tending to, but other than that, the age of the house was not apparent. It had originally been built by their parents even before Christian and Aidan were born, thanks to their maternal grandfather, who had been a contractor in the Muggle world. When their parents had died, the boys had inherited the house, and Christian had decided to raise Aidan there.

Aidan tapped the doorknob with his wand; the lock clicked and it swung inward. The house was cozy and inviting, with its lush carpets, elegant portraits, and, when lit, its warm fireplace. Aidan sat down on one of the couches, letting himself sink into the soft material.

He sighed deeply as he finished off his pasty. He couldn't help but wonder who he had seen a few moments ago, or if he had even seen anyone at all. The figure seemed real to him, but when he and Christian had gone outside, it was as if no one had been there at all. Their hadn't even been footprints.

He kept thinking about this while he went up to his bedroom and got ready for a shower. He always seemed to think better during a hot shower.

But all the steam from the warm water did was make Aidan sleepy. By the time he had emerged from the bathrom, water dripping into his eyes from his hair, he was yawning.

"Already turning in, little bro?" Christian remarked with a grin as he slipped past Aidan into the bathroom.

Aidan rubbed his eyes in response, treading across the hallway into his bedroom.

Aidan's room wasn't anything marvelous—he preferred to keep things simple. The only decorations on the walls were a large banner depicting the Ravenclaw colors, and a few photos of himself, his schoolmates, and his brother. He glanced up at one of himself and Christian wearing their Auror uniforms—Christian had one hand on Aidan's shoulder, and a wide grin adorned his face. Aidan was smiling, too, though he looked shy and more than a little nervous.

There was one photograph, however, that stood out to Aidan most of all. There were four people in the portrait—a man, a woman, a boy of about eleven, and a baby. The man was tall and well-built, like Christian was—in fact, the young boy and the man looked nearly alike. The woman, in contrast, was light-skinned and fair-haired, as Aidan was. He had little memory of his parents; the things he did remember were mostly picture-based or faded, as if they were the memories of someone else—his mother's smile, the silly faces his father would make for the boys' entertainment among a few other things.

It bothered Aidan that he couldn't remember much, and whenever he would ask Christian about them, he would become slightly tense and would change the subject, asking some question Aidan knew he could care less about. He had stopped asking Christian somewhere near his eighteenth birthday, but now and then, he still got a horrible feeling that he should remember m...

Aidan exhaled as he looked away from the family photo. He took a book from the shelf near his bed and slid under the covers. The warm, soft fabric felt good against his skin, and the feeling of drowsiness brought on by the shower had increased. Yawning, he picked up his wand and murmured, "_Lumos." The tip lit immediately; he placed his wand beside his pillo and lay back, flipping to the page he had marked.

As he read, Aidan listened to the sound of the shower running. By the time The shower had stopped, he was nearly asleep, his book still open in his hand.

Christian placed his clothes in the laundry basket before he padded down the carpeted hall toward his brother's room.

"Little bro?" he whispered, peeking through the crack in the doorway.

He spotted Aidan leaning back against his pillows, his wand still lit, his book still open. His head lolled backward, nearly touching the headboard. Christian chuckled to himself as he crossed the room, picked up Aidan's wand, and murmured, "_Nox."

The light went out as he placed it on Aidan's night table. Aidan stirred in his sleep, mumbling something incoherently. Christian took the book from his hands and placed the bookmark on the page before he set it on the shelf.

"G'night, little bro," he whispered, ruffling Aidan's hair affectionately.

He gazed back at his brother for a long moment, before his eyes drifted to the photographs on the wall. His gaze lingered for a particularly long while on the one of his parents, himself, and Aidan as a baby.

A wave of mixed emotions washed over him, and he found himself having to blink several times to keep away the prickling at the back of his eyes. Seeing his parents' faces brought back horrible memories, memories that made his heart begin to hammer. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, and his breathing became somewhat shallow.

Biting his lip, Christian left the room, his head spinning. He had avoided thinking about their parents for a good while now, and seeing the portrait on Aidan's wall had triggered the memories to start up again.

As he went back to his own room, he thought about what had happened while he and Aidan were at the Three Broomsticks. Aidan had been so sure he had seen someone. It wasn't that Christian didn't believe him—Aidan had a knack for spotting things that others couldn't, or that they simply thought were details too trivial to pay attention to. It was merely the fact that his description of the figure was what Christian didn't want to hear: tall, wearing a black cloak, hooded...

A shiver ran through him that had nothing to do with the temperature. He sighed and sat down on the edge of his bed, gazing thoughtfully out the window. Seeing the photograph made him realize just how quickly the years had gone by. He could remember his mother's elation when she told him she was pregnant again.

"You're going to have a little brother or sister!" she'd said to him. "Aren't you excited?"

He had been indeed; even though being an only child meant that you didn't have to share your toys or your favorite snacks, it came with the disadvantage of being lonely when your friends would go home for the evening or spend some quality time with their own siblings.

Finding out that he would have a little brother had made Christian that much more ecstatic—he remembered how he had looked forward to do all of the things brothers did together: play Exploding Snap, fly on broomsticks, have pretend duels, and talk animatedly about their favorite Quidditch teams.

As Aidan had grown older, Christian was able to do all the things he had wanted to do, but he was also met by the startling reality that his brother wouldn't like everything he did. From an early age, Aidan took to reading, and Aidan much preferred the company of a good book over Christian's hobby of performing reckless stunts and flirting with girls.

Still, the brothers got along well, despite their differences. But their relationship had been put to the test when Aidan had been nine, and Christian twenty. He wouldn't let himself remember that night, however. It was an accident, he told himself.

Taking a deep breath, Christian reached over and took a chocolate frog from a box on his dresser, absently biting off its head. He thought about the figure Aidan had seen all night, until he had finally fallen asleep.


	17. Chapter 17

Harry wiped his eyes with the back of his hand as he rolled over so that he lay face-up. His muscles were cramped and achy, as if he had run a marathon while in the worst shape of his life. He felt so exhausted, but he hadn't been able to sleep at all that night.

He had switched between feeling angry at Ron and Ginny for not understanding him and refusing to listen when he was clearly telling the truth, feeling depressed because of his breakup with Ginny, and incredibly lonely. He hadn't heard from Hayley, which made his mood deteriorate. He was absolutely sure that she, too, had decided to abandon him.

Thinking of Hayley reminded him of his complicated feelings for her. While she had been with him the night before, he had felt relaxed and somewhat content, because he knew that at least someone had wanted to understand him, to make him feel better.

He could deny that nothing could exist between him and Hayley, he could say that he only saw her as a friend. But the more time they spent together, the more apparent and unmistakable his feelings for her became. Sometimes, he considered telling her, just to get it over with, but every time the thought would cross his mind, he would dismiss it automatically. _Don't be _stupid, he chastised himself. _You just ended a relationship with _Ginny. _It would be wrong of you to tell Hayley you love her after all _this.

His thoughts wouldn't stay on one path for long, however, and afterwards, he would find himself feeling lonely or upset again. He had shed tears of anger, frustration, and sadness until, at last, he couldn't cry anymore.

He hadn't bothered to make anything to eat, and the only thing he had had to drink was some water he had forced himself to have earlier that day. Groaning with weariness, he forced himself to get out of bed, staggering a bit as he did so.

He willed his stiff legs to carry him into the bathroom, where he paused and glanced in the mirror.

"Oh, my!" it exclaimed, making an already frazzled Harry start violently. "You look terrible, dear boy!"

Frowning, Harry gazed at his reflection. The mirror had been right. The young man who stared back at him was pale and haggard, and his eyes were bloodshot. Streaks made by tears marked his face, and his hair was untidier than it usually was.

He turned on the tap and washed his face, trying to will himself to become less lethargic. He knew he needed to snap out of it, but the horrible feelings of depression and loneliness seemed to cling to him like toddlers would to their parents.

Harry felt somewhat better after taking a shower, but his emotions were still looming over him, looking to trap him when he was least expecting it. For the first time in twenty-four hours, however, he felt like he could actually sleep.

He was just getting back into bed, yawning hugely, when the doorbell rang. He half walked, half stumbled to the door, trying hard to keep his eyes open.

His heart gave an involuntary leap as he looked down at the figure on his doorstep.

"Hayley?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

Hayley frowned deeply as she got a good look at him.

"My God, Harry," she breathed. "You..."

"I know," he murmured wearily, running his fingers through his hair.

"Have you even slept at all?"

"No, not, not really."

She sighed, her expression emanating concern. She knew she shouldn't have left him alone. "I'm so, so sorry, Harry."

"Don't be," he said quietly.

He stepped aside so that she could enter the house. She gave him a soft smile as she went inside. Harry noticed that she was carrying a large shopping bag.

"What's in there?"

"A few things I picked up for you."

He noticed that she had smiled somewhat when she had said it, but he ignored the urge to question her further.

"Are you hungry now?" she asked, placing the bag on the counter.

"Sure," he murmured halfheartedly.

"D'you want anything in particular?"

"No. Anything's fine."

He sank onto the couch with a yawn as he watched Hayley take the bag into the kitchen and unload it with her back to him. She was purposefully blocking his view of the items, but why?

As he continued to stare at her, he found himself feeling nervous, and not in a completely bad way either. _No, he thought firmly. _You can't do this; this is wrong, _Harry. _Wrong, wrong, _wrong!

But the more he tried to prevent his thoughts from straying to Hayley, the harder it became. He didn't understand. Wasn't he only supposed to love Ginny? Wasn't loving the girl who had only been there to help you wrong?

Harry finally forced his thoughts to cease; or, rather, to at least be quiet for a while. He let his mind drift lazily from idea to idea, and from image to image, the sounds of Hayley puttering around in the kitchen providing him with a sense of peace and comfort.

Hayley made sure that the lasagna was baking before she went into the living room to check up on Harry. The corners of her mouth turned upward in a smile when she saw him.

Harry was curled up on the couch in a sort of fetal position, his hair sticking up at all angles. It made him look almost like a young child who had finally been able to fall asleep after a nightmare.

Hayley smiled again as she summoned his blanket. As the material came in contact with Harry's skin, he stiffened ever so slightly.

"It's all right, Harry," she murmured soothingly. "It was just your blanket."

Though Harry hadn't awoken at all, his muscles relaxed instantly.

As Hayley went back into the kitchen, she couldn't help but think about Harry. Yes, she still felt that he wouldn't be going through so much if it hadn't been for her, but there was something else on her mind. She couldn't help but see him for what he really was: a truly sweet guy who just needed someone to be there for him and tell him that everything would be okay. For a brief moment, she actually wondered if Harry felt as she did—that even though they were clearly friends, there was just something more there, something that they hadn't even come close to discovering.

She wanted to dismiss it, though. After all, Harry had just broken up with Ginny not thirty-six hours ago, and already she was thinking like this? She shook her head, feeling silly. There was no way Harry would even think about starting anything with her, she was sure of that.

She let Harry sleep for nearly three hours, but when it was clear he wouldn't wake anytime soon (at least not voluntarily), she woke him gently.

"I know you're tired," she said as he rolled onto his back, refusing to open his eyes. "but you need to eat something, Harry."

"I'll eat later," he mumbled, half-asleep.

Hayley sighed, going against her judgment. "You'd better."

"Swear on my wand," he said, his speech slurring a little as he slipped back into a deeper sleep.

Hayley sat down on the chair near the couch and began to flip through a Muggle fashion magazine.

True to his word, Harry had woken up about half an hour later, and, when Hayley had served him, began to eat at once. His food-deprived stomach immediately seized its opportunity for revenge; as soon as he had taken the first bite, the full force of his hunger hit him, and it was clear his stomach was punishing him for his neglience.

"This is amazing," he said in between large bites of pasta.

"I'm glad you like it," she replied, beaming at him.

He had managed to wolf down two large pieces of lasagna before he had his fill. By the time he had finished, he felt sluggish and sleepy all over again, but pleasantly so.

Just as he had sent his plate off to the sink to wash itself, he sighed, grimacing slightly as the movement expanded his already stretched-out abdominal muscles.

"I'll be right back," he said to Hayley, stretching as he stood from his chair. "I'm going to go wash my face."

"All right."

She watched him make his way into the bedroom. Only when she heard the bathroom door close did she get up. She set her magazine aside and, grinning, strode into the kitchen. She pulled the oven door open and removed the baking sheet, which contained a few individual pies. She placed the baking sheet on top of the stove and proceeded to squirt the pies with treacle, creating Harry's absolute favorite dessert.

When she was finished, she stepped back and admired her work. This was bound to make Harry feel better.

Hayley remained in the kitchen until she heard him coming out of the bedroom, yawning and clearing his throat.

"Harry?" she called. "Can you come in here for a sec?"

"Okay. Coming."

Hayley grinned with excitement as she stood near the stove, listening to Harry's steps as he padded across the living room and into the kitchen. Droplets of water were falling from his hair onto his T-shirt.

"What did you—"

He stopped midsentence as the familiar smell touched his nostrils. He inhaled deeply, his green eyes widening with surprise. "Hayley! You, you didn't!"

"Yep," she said, grinning at him.

He opened his mouth to say something, but words had utterly left him. He could not believe that Hayley had made treacle tart. How had she known that it was one of his favorites?

"Blimey, Hayley, I... wow, thank you!"

"You're welcome."

She crossed the room and stood beside him. Still smiling, he gave her a grateful, somewhat nervous embrace.

Hayley had been right—the treacle tart had done wonders to lift Harry's spirits. He still felt the negative emotions trying to break through his resolve, but they no longer had as much of an influence on him as they had before.

By the time Hayley had gone home, Harry was relaxed, extremely well-fed, and more than a little sleepy. She had called to check up on him once more, and, after that, Harry had decided to turn in for the night, since he had training the following day.

As he lay underneath the covers, he thought about the weekend as a whole. He knew he needed to fix things between himself and Ron—that much was obvious. He also needed to somehow fix things with Ginny, too. But how was he supposed to do that? Knowing that he didn't have the answer—and probably wouldn't come up with it anytime soon, Harry tried his hardest not to think about everything. He had just managed to free his mind of the terrible cage it had been held captive in for twenty-four hours, and he really didn't want to go back there again.

He found himself thinking of Hayley until, finally, sleep overtook him, dragging him into the realms of unconsciousness.


	18. Chapter 18

Harry awoke the next morning feeling somewhat refreshed, though the thought of seeing Ron made him nervous.

After showering and getting dressed, he went down to the kitchen and prepared some tea. As he was scrambling some eggs in a small bowl, he heard the tapping of tallons on his window.

He opened it, letting in some of the cool morning air. He retrieved the copy of the _Daily _Prophet from the delivery owl, placing a Sickle in the pouch tied to its leg. After eating some breakfast and skimming through the paper—most of it hadn't interested him very much—he went through the usual ritual of putting on his shoes and pocketing his wand, after which he stepped outside and locked the door. After glancing around as usual to make sure no Muggles were looking, he Disapparated.

As he made his way toward the training fields, he could see Neville walking ahead of him and, beside him, Ron. Harry tried to ignore the apprehension that swelled within him as he approached his two friends.

"Hey, guys," he said, trying to sound casual.

Neville and Ron both looked back at Harry.

"Hey, Harry," Neville said.

Ron gazed at Harry for a long moment, but he said nothing. He only gave him a curt nod and turned back around, marching off. Neville gave Harry a puzzled look—apparently, he didn't know what had occurred over the weekend.

"Long story," Harry muttered.

Neville nodded slowly and, still looking rather confused, made his way onto the field with Harry trailing behind.

For nearly twenty minutes, the trainees milled around the expansive training area, conversing and laughing as if they had no other care in the world. Harry tried various times to talk to Ron, but each time he tried, Ron would walk off, leaving Harry alone with the attempt at a conversation on his lips.

Harry hadn't been so relieved to see Bailey stride onto the field. Endurance exercises gave him an excuse not to ponder his situation with Ron.

"You guys know what to do," Bailey said with a shrug when the sounds of conversation had ceased. "Go on!"

The pounding of trainers against the hard, compact earth was the only sound Harry really heard as he jogged along the well-worn track. He couldn't help but think about how Ron was acting toward him. He supposed he should have expected this, but it still didn't make it any easier for Harry to deal with it. He wanted more than anything to sit with Ron and explain absolutely everything, to tell him, best friend to best friend, how he felt about Ginny, about Hayley...

"Have a nice weekend, Potter?"

Harry was startled slightly by the sound of Bailey's voice. He glanced back at Bailey without slowing his pace. The look on his face made Harry want to hex him then and there.

"Sure," Harry said, trying to keep his tone conversational, as if he didn't think that Bailey was one of the most cocky, annoying people he had ever come across.

"That's great, real great," Bailey said, giving Harry a smile that made Harry's hands clench reflexively into fists.

Deeply annoyed, he took off again at a much faster pace, determined to put a considerable distance between himself and Bailey.

For the next half hour, Harry was alone with only his thoughts to keep him company. He was determined not to look behind him, not to look anywhere but straight ahead. He put much more effort than was necessary into his endurance exercises, not wanting to be bothered by Bailey or anyone else.

He was so engrossed in his attempts to avoid everyone and everything that he was startled by the sound of two people talking nearby. Cursing his overwhelming sense of curiosity, Harry allowed his brain to interpret their conversation. Neville's and Ron's voices came to his ears immediately.

"You didn't see the way he was looking at him?"

"Yeah, but so what? You know he always looks at him like that. Why is today any different?"

To Harry, Ron sounded irritated and more than a little impatient. Neville, too, seemed impatient, his tone implying that whatever point he was trying to make, Ron should have gotten it ages ago.

"I don't really know how to explain it," Neville said. "But I just know there's something going on. It's dodgy, how he keeps staring at Harry and giving him this look like he knows something that Harry doesn't."

At the mention of his name, Harry couldn't help but stop abruptly and whirl around. He hadn't wanted Neville and Ron to think he was listening, but if their conversation concerned him, he felt he had a right to know.

"What?"

Ron and Neville exchanged a look, and Ron glanced at Harry, his eyes uncharacteristically guarded.

"Neville's going on and on about Bailey," Ron said finally. He hadn't meant Harry's gaze directly, but at least he had spoken to him.

"But what does that have to do with me?" Harry asked, frowning.

"He was staring at you," Neville said, seeming determined to get Harry to understand.

"But he—"

"I know, I know, he always stares at you," Neville said impatiently. "But, this time, this time... You have to see it to understand what I mean. He just looks at you with this sort of glint in his eye as if—"

"As if he knew something I didn't?"

Neville nodded.

"I heard you say that."

The three friends jogged together for the remainder of their endurance session, the debate of Neville's claim continuing, with Neville sticking to his belief that something was definitely amiss about the way Bailey would look at Harry. Harry remained neutral, but Ron believed that, seeing as Bailey did this often, this was nothing quite out of the ordinary.

But just as Harry had spotted Aidan strolling out onto the track to bring them in for their Stealth and Tracking lesson, it happened. Harry looked up, and at that moment, caught Bailey gazing at him. An odd feeling surged through him, and his instincts told him that it wasn't a good one. The corners of Bailey's mouth had turned up in an almost mocking grin, and the look in his eyes was unmistakable. Neville had described it accurately—it was a look that clearly screamed, "I know something you don't know!". It made Harry want to close the distance between him and demand that he tell him.

But the logical, more hesitant side of him—no doubt brought on by nearly eight years of knowing Hermione—made him question the entire thing. What if it had been, like Ron had insisted, Bailey just trying to push Harry's buttons? Still, it bothered him nonetheless, and as he passed Aidan, an idea suddenly occurred to him.

He glanced back to make sure Ron and Neville were still with him. At almost the same instant, both of them seemed to understand what Harry was thinking—Neville gave Harry a grin and a nod, and Ron looked somewhat skeptical, but he, too, nodded encouragingly. Harry waited until everyone else had gone into the large indoor gym-like building, before he approached the young Auror.

"Hey, Harry," Aidan said, grinning cordially at him. "You all right?"

Harry liked Aidan a lot—he had that air of amiable openness that made people feel like they could speak to him without being judged or questioned harshly.

"Yeah, fine. Er, I was wondering... D'you think I could maybe have a word with you about something?"

Aidan smiled. He didn't even bother to question Harry about why he needed to speak to him. He just said, "Sure thing. Chris!"

Another Auror appeared from the practice room. This one was about two inches or so taller than Aidan. In many ways, they looked alike—their eyes, the structure of their faces, and the openness of their smiles—but in other ways, they were different Harry could tell which one of the two was more sociable—Christian carried himself with a more casual air than Aidan did. Harry recognized Christian immediately—he was the one in charge of their Spells, Jinxes, and Curses class.

What is it, little bro?"

"D'you mind taking over for a few minutes?" Aidan asked. "I need to speak to Harry."

Christian looked a little surprised, but he grinned and nodded. "My pleasure. I was going to ask you if I could take over today, anyway." Looking immensely pleased, Christian clapped Aidan on the shoulder, thanked him, and headed inside again.

Ron and Neville glanced at Harry, before they both turned to go.

"Wait, you guys," he said. He glanced at Aidan. "D'you mind if they stay?"

Aidan shrugged and shook his head, unperturbed by Harry's request. "Come on. We can talk in my office."

"But," Harry began. "Aren't all the Auror cubicles in the Ministry building?"

"They are," Aidan said, smiling slightly. "But we have a passage from the training area back here that leads directly to the Auror Office."

"Wicked," Ron said, shaking his head in wonder. "Clever, all the stuff they've come up with."

Aidan grinned and nodded. "Definitely. So, shall we go, then?"

Harry, Ron, and Neville nodded and followed Aidan past the training area. He led them through a door that opened onto a high-ceilinged hallway, which had several doors on each side.

"Storage," Aidan explained, pointing to the doors that led off the hall in turn. "For extra potion ingredients, broomsticks, Invisibility Cloaks, all of that."

The corridor continued on; for a long while, the three of them wondered just how much further they would have to go, though they had only been walking for about five minutes. Finally, they reached another door. Aidan placed the tip of his wand against it and tapped it twice, lightly, then once, a bit harder, then three more times, a bit faster than before, then once more. Harry heard him mutter something in an undertone, before the door opened with a loud click.

"For security, as I'm sure you guys know."

The door swung inward, and the chinking of chain links could be heard as it opened wide enough for the four of them to slip through. As soon as Neville had slipped through—preceded by Aidan, Harry, and Ronn—the door had swung closed, and Harry looked backed to see the latch click back into place.

They were now standing in another passageway, but Harry could make out the distant flutter of interdepartmental memos from where he stood.

As soon as they came into view of the cubicles where the Aurors worked, Aidan steered them into one of the furthest ones. As was typical of the cubicles, Aidan's was lined with the photographs of the Death Eaters who hadn't been captured, and of the other criminals who the Aurors were responsible for tracking down. Harry felt a chill run down his spine at seeing the cruel faces of Voldemort's escaped followers.

"So," Aidan said as he conjured up three extra chairs. "What did you need to talk to me about?"

Harry had been so preoccupied with the posters of the criminals that he had completely forgotten about their reason for coming in the first place. He glanced at Ron, then at Neville. He knew that Aidan and Bailey knew each other, and he was also the one who kept Bailey in line. What if Aidan didn't want to listen to him, or what if, like Ron, he believed it was nothing of significance? He would have wasted a good portion of Aidan's time. Suddenly feeling hesitant, Harry sat down and faced Aidan.

"Well, er, during our endurance session this morning... I noticed well..."

Aidan was watching Harry now, and it made him doubt what he and Neville had seen even more. Neville chose that moment to save him.

"I'd seen Bailey, er, watching Harry," he said. Seeing the puzzled look on Aidan's face, he continued. "It's difficult to explain, but he was just, he was looking at him as if, well, as if he knew something Harry didn't."

Aidan was silent for a long moment, making both Harry and Neville nervous.

"I can show you," Neville said suddenly. "I, I can give you my memory of it."

Aidan considered this for a moment, and, finally, he nodded. "That sounds like the best option."

Neville drew his wand and placed the tip of it to his temple. After a moment, he withdrew it, the wispy tendril of thought Harry had seen so many times from Dumbledore's pensieve attached to the tip of Neville's wand. Aidan carefully took it with a vial. As Neville was stowing his wand away, Aidan retrieved a Pensieve from the large cabinet above his head. He placed it on top of his desk and poured the contents of the vial into it.

For a long moment, the three friends watched as Aidan relived Neville's memory. Finally, Aidan raised his head, returning the memory to the vial and handing it to Neville. He was gazing down at the empty Pensieve, his expression thoughtful. To Harry, it seemed as if Aidan was taking this much more seriously than they were.

"I'll speak with him," he said finally.

Harry suddenly felt anxious. He didn't want Bailey to think that he had told Aidan—it would only make things worse.

Sensing Harry's anxiety, Aidan said, "I won't directly ask, Harry. I'll just act like I'm trying to find out for myself."

But something in Aidan's tone made Harry think that he was indeed curious, and even Aidan's slight change in posture—his slightly tense face, his alert eyes, his fiddling hands—suggested that there was more to it than Aidan was letting on.

Aidan had led them back to Stealth and Tracking with the assurance that he would give Harry an answer soon, but he couldn't stop thinking about the fact that Aidan was behaving differently. He tried to dismiss it and focus on training, but it seemed to nag at him all day. Perhaps, he thought with a bit of resignation, it was nothing at all. Perhaps it was just Aidan's reaction to the situation. It had to be, it just had to.


	19. Chapter 19

Aidan couldn't stop thinking about his conversation with Harry, Ron, and Neville. His first instinct would have been to deny it, to pass it off as Harry and Neville merely overreacting. But Neville's memory had been much too real for Aidan to dismiss it as a simple tall tale. The look on Bailey's face as he was staring at Harry's jogging form made an odd sense of foreboding creep into him. But why?

For the first time in his life, Aidan was glad when it came time to dismiss the trainees at the end of Potions and Poisons. He bade farewell to each one of them as they left, his gaze searching the throngs for Harry. Sure enough, he spotted him with Ron and Neville. They were walking side by side, and, judging by the fact that their lips were moving and their heads were bent close together, he could infer that they were talking about something important.

Just as he was about to say goodbye to them, he spotted Bailey. He was standing apart from everyone else, near the edge of the track. His gaze was shifting discretely through the crowd of young men as they dispersed, some Disapparating where they stood, others, like Harry and his friends, heading toward the Ministry building.

To anyone who didn't know any better (or who didn't have the keen eye that Aidan did), Bailey appeared casual as he stood there, gazing at the trainees as they passed. But as Aidan watched him from his spot near the door, he saw right through Bailey's pretense. Just as he had seen in the memory, he had been staring at Harry's turn back with a look on his face that brought back the apprehension in Aidan.

"Hey, little bro!" Christian strode up to his brother, giving him a playful punch on the arm. "What're you doing?"

"Oh, nothing," Aidan said with a shrug.

He wasn't about to tell Christian the latest problem with Bailey. He already didn't like him; Aidan knew that this would surely annoy Christian, and he would tell him to just drop it. But Aidan couldn't. There was just something about Bailey's expression around Harry that made him feel uneasy. He looked over toward the place where he had seen Bailey. He had begun to walk off, getting further and further away from the training area.

"I've got to go," Aidan said to Christian. He attempted to walk past him, but Christian blocked his path.

"You look like you're in a hurry," he observed.

Aidan sighed impatiently. "I've just got something important I've got to do."

"And may I ask what this 'important thing' is?"

"Chris, please! I'll just meet you at home in half an hour, all right?"

"Okay, okay," he said, stepping aside to let Aidan pass. "No need to get your knickers in a twist."

Aidan ignored Christian as he jogged away, trying to find Bailey again.

It didn't take him long to find him. Bailey was leaning against the fence that bordered the track, staring blankly into space.

"Bailey?" Aidan whispered, stopping beside him.

He stiffened slightly—it was the only sign that Aidan had startled him. "What do you want?" he snapped, making Aidan take a reflexive step back.

"I, I just, I wanted to talk to you."

"Make it quick, please, Aidan," he sighed. "I've got to get going."

Aidan hesitated for a moment. He gazed at Bailey, trying to pick out any bit of recognizable emotion from his expression, but he could find none. It was as if he had flipped a switch that wiped all feeling from his eyes, making them cold and strangely unfriendly. Aidan exhaled slowly, bracing himself for what was sure to come.

"Well, I... I noticed that you seemed kind of, well, kind of off today."

"And?" Bailey's tone had immediately become harsh and demanding.

"Well, I just wanted to know what was up."

"None of your business," he said gruffly.

"Hey, I didn't come to talk to you just to have you snap at me like that," Aidan said indignantly. He suddenly felt a twinge of anger, which was a rarity for him.

"I never asked you to come talk to me," Bailey retorted, turning his back on Aidan.

"Come on, Bailey. You can't just act like this toward me now. You and I have been friends since primary school."

Bailey whirled around so fast that Aidan gasped and drew his wand, reflexively gripping it in his right hand.

"Damn it, Aidan!" Bailey growled, taking a step toward him.

The change in Bailey's expression was so pronounced that it made Aidan anxious. His brown eyes were lit with fury, and even his facial muscles had become rigid. Aidan was gripping his wand so tightly that his knuckles were white.

"I've already told you! I don't need you to talk to me about anything! I don't need your help, and I don't want you looking after me like I'm a kid, all right? Stop, just stop! I'm sick of you telling me off every fucking day for stupid shit!"

Aidan stared at Bailey, stunned. Why had all of this come up so suddenly? Sure, Aidan had known that Bailey didn't like it when he told him off, but why had he decided to take it out on him now?

"Bailey," he whispered, still deeply taken aback by his outburst. "I, I'm sorry. I was just trying to help, that's all."

"Why do you care?" he demanded, staring right at Aidan. "You've never cared, have you? And why should you? You're just perfect little Aidan." Bailey laughed humorlessly. "Whatever. See you tomorrow." And with that, Bailey Disapparated, leaving Aidan confused and still a little shaken.

Aidan did not go home as he had told Christian he would. Instead, he found himself wandering down the busy, narrow streets of Hogsmeade village. He couldn't stop thinking about his conversation with Bailey. Perfect? Aidan felt that he was far from it.

Here he was, twenty-six years old, with nothing but his career as an accomplishment. He didn't have a girlfriend, he didn't have a family, he didn't have anything that made him appear successful, unless you counted his status in the Auror Office. Yes, he was certainly proud of this, but he longed for something more, something that would add more meaning to his life.

But he didn't understand why Bailey seemed so angry with him. He hadn't done anything to him, at least not intentionally. If he had, though, Bailey hadn't said anything before. So why now? He thought back to how he had looked at Harry, and had tried to see it in a different light. He had seen two aspects of Bailey's personality that day that had made him extremely apprehensive, but when he tried to put them together, they made little sense to him.

As he stood near the Three Broomsticks, staring absently at its sign, an idea came to him that both startled and intrigued him. He wanted to know just what Bailey was up to, and if he wouldn't tell him, there was only one way to find out.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Aidan was jogging purposefully out of the village and down one of the side streets so that he wouldn't be seen by passersby. Making sure no one was looking, he drew his wand and murmured a few, well-chosen Concealment Charms. He would have preferred an Invisibility Cloak, but he would have had to go back to the house to get one, which meant having to possibly explain to Christian what he was going to do with it, something he certainly wanted to avoid.

Aidan took several deep breaths, trying to settle his suddenly pounding heart. He tried to convince himself of the necessity of his actions, but he couldn't help but feel afraid nonetheless. He exhaled one last time before finally Disapparating.

He landed lightly on a rather neglected lawn. The grass was so high that it reached just below his knees, and there were weeds everywhere. Frowning, Aidan glanced back to make sure that the Concealment Charms were still working.

Trying his best to ignore the feeling of trepidation that had begun to overwhelm him, Aidan picked his way through the tangle of grass and weeds, making as little noise as possible. After nearly fifteen minutes, Aidan had finally made it around to the back of the house. He had managed to peek through all of the windows, but he had seen nothing. But it hadn't detoured him at all; he knew better than to look superficially.

As he looked through the glass of the rear sliding door, he realized that he only had one more option if he was to find out what he had come to learn. Deciding to place yet another Concealment Charm just in case, Aidan paused by the door, performed the spell, and, holding his breath, he tested the door's handle. It was unlocked.

Swallowing back his anxiety, Aidan pulled the door aside. It opened without a creak. He crept inside the house, making sure to close the door behind him so as not to tip anyone off about his entrance. He was careful not to knock against anything as he made his way through the house, inspecting every corner and underneath every piece of furniture.

What struck Aidan as odd was the furniture and personal possessions or, rather, the lack there of. The more time he spent in Bailey's house, the more confused he became. The house felt so bare to him, so alien since the last time he had been there, which hadn't even been a fortnight ago.

Aidan had just been about to descend the stairs that led to the cellar when he heard them. The distinct sound of male voices came to him, and they were coming from the very place he had intended to look next. He froze in mid-step with one foot on the next stair, his nerves heightening. He strained his ears to catch their conversation; he could tell that there was definitely more than one, and they were indeed speaking in an undertone.

"He could have figured it out," one of them was saying angrily. "That little brat is good about sticking his nose where it doesn't belong."

"I know that," a second voice said, and Aidan had to force himself to keep quiet; the speaker was none other than his best friend. "I've grown up with him. I know better than any of you what he's like."

"Yes, well, you haven't used your knowledge of him to your advantage, have you?" the first voice retorted. "He could have figured it out today!"

"But he didn't!" Bailey protested.

Aidan realized, with a jolt, that they were talking about him. A flood of questions immediately entered his mind: who was Bailey talking to? Why did he sound so angry? What did these people have to do with Bailey's mood that day, and, most importantly, what did he, Aidan, have to do with any of this?

"You can't play dumb forever, Bailey," a third voice spoke up. "You are one of the only people who knows him inside out. You know when he's onto you, and if you don't clean things up quickly, he's bound to put the pieces together. He's bound to figure out that you're not who he thinks you are."

A shaky sigh came from Bailey. "Just, just give me a few more days, all right? A few more days, and I swear I'll take care of everything. I'll get Potter alone, I'll make sure Aidan doesn't find out... But please, just please give me more time."

Aidan noticed the change in Bailey's tone as if a switch had been flipped. No longer did he sound angry and rude; instead, his voice now shook as if he was afraid of something. But what?

"Do you really expect us to give you more time?" the first voice asked. It didn't sound angry anymore, but the malice embedded within the words sent a horrible thrill of fear through Aidan. "After all the time we've already given you?"

"I, I know, I know, but please, just please," Bailey pleaded. "J-just a few more days, I swear! That's, that's all I need!"

A soft, cruel laugh touched Aidan's ears, and the next thing he knew, a horrible, blood-curdling scream filled the air.


	20. Chapter 20

Aidan couldn't help the gasp of shock that escaped his lips as he nearly toppled backward. It was only because of his agility that he managed to remain upright. The scream that had startled him so badly had come from the cellar.

"Please!" Bailey pleaded, his voice quivering with fear. "P-please, please don't, please don't hurt him, please!"

"You told us a month ago to give you more time," the third voice growled. "And a month has gone by with no change whatsoever! We have chosen to be flexible and lenient with you out of the goodness of our own hearts, and yet here you are, not keeping up with your end of the bargain."

"I, I, I know," Bailey was stammering. "I, I'm s-s-sorry!"

"Sorry will get you nowhere, Bailey," the first voice snarled, and there was another cry of pain and a clinking of chains.

Aidan tried to peek through the slight crack in the door, but he was too far away and it was too small for him to see anything. He guessed, however, that Bailey was not the one being harmed, because there was another voice. This one sounded anguished and weak.

"B-b-Bailey... just, just... give it up! D-d-don't... do this to Aidan, or Harry Potter! Please!"

"Keep quiet, Jack!" Bailey cried. "You, you don't, you don't know what you're talking about! I, I have to, to do this in order to free you!"

Aidan's heart was hammering now. Jack? As in, Bailey's younger brother? Why had those people captured Jack? Why were they harming him? The feeling of trepidation did not quell; instead, it seemed to feed off of everything he had just heard.

"Yes, I, I do," Jack gasped. "Harry Potter, Harry doesn't, he doesn't deserve any of this! He, he—"

"Shut up!" the first voice snapped; Jack gasped and fell silent. "There's someone out there! I know it!"

Raw fear gripped Aidan then. How had they found out? He had placed enchantments on himself so that his presence could not be detected. He whirled around and bolted up the few stairs he had managed to descend, but he only managed to flee onto the landing before he saw several jets of light speed toward him. He swerved out of the way just in time—he heard the whoosh of air as the spells collided with the wall just inches to his left, causing a big chunk of it to cave inwards.

Adrenaline pumped through Aidan as he sprinted through a corridor, the kitchen, the dining room, the living room, and finally out through the front door. He heard the heavy footsteps of his pursuers as they drew closer, and panic began to join the adrenaline. Standing on the lawn, he tried desperately to Disapparate, but it wouldn't work.

"Damn it," he breathed. He gave up trying to Disapparate and instead turned on his heels and made a beeline for the trees that surrounded Bailey's house. He had just managed to slip into the dense underbrush when something suddenly snagged his foot. He let out an involuntary cry as he fell forward, making a frantic grab for anything that just might keep him from falling.

Pain shot through him as his hands scraped against the bark of the surrounding trees, and his face slammed into the hard earth. He winced as he heard the crunch of his glasses as they shattered, and the horrible pinching of the frame as it bent in on itself. He lay there, his heart hammering, his breathing coming in short, shallow pants. _You have to get _up, he told himself. _You have to get _up. _Come on, _Aidan. _Come on, get _up. _Get _up. _Get _up...

"You're so fucking stupid."

Aidan heard the crunching of dead leaves and the snapping of twigs as Bailey approached. Aidan tried to lift himself from the ground, but he had difficulty freeing his limbs from the tangle of branches.

Bailey's footsteps grew ever closer, until he was right beside him. "You just had to come and snoop around, didn't you? After I told you not to."

"Bailey—"

"Shut up!" he snarled, kneeling down beside Aidan.

He gripped Aidan's arms painfully and wrenched them free. Aidan stifled a cry of agony as the branches tried to resist. They cut into his arms, causing long, thin gashes to appear. It was a horrid feeling of skin tearing, and the same feelings overwhelmed him as Bailey pulled his legs out, too, the sound of tearing fabric registering with him as his jeans tore in various places.

"Are you fucking retarded?" Bailey demanded, forcefully flipping Aidan onto his back. All that remained of his glasses were the frames, which were cutting into his temples, making blood drip steadily down his face and onto the collar of his white shirt. "Do I have to speak to you slowly so that you understand?"

He slapped Aidan hard across the face, making him cringe and inhale sharply. Reflexively, Aidan lashed out, knocking Bailey backward with a kick of his boot. Not expecting the blow, Bailey collapsed onto his back with a grunt. Aidan attempted to sit up, but Bailey had pulled out his wand.

"_Incarcerous!" Bailey roared.

Ropes bound themselves tightly around Aidan's wrists and ankles, making him collapse back onto the ground. Bailey staggered to his feet and stood over him.

"That should hold you."

"Bailey," Aidan managed, trying to remind his body how to breathe properly. "Wh-what's going on?"

Pure fury seemed to transform Bailey, making him appear horribly cruel. "How many fucking times do I have to tell you?"

With one horrible sweep of his wand, Aidan was forced to his feet. Panic coursed through Aidan as he felt himself fall backward, but an invisible force kept him upright. He continued to struggle pointlessly against the ropes as the invisible force dragged him backward, slamming him against a tree.

"Stay. out. of. my. Fucking. business!" With each word, Aidan was slammed forcefully against the tree. The action jostled him violently, and by the end of Bailey's sentence, he felt woozy and slightly disoriented. "I shouldn't have to tell you that so many fucking times! But you're so fucking nosy I'm surprised you're even still alive!"

Hurt flashed through Aidan, and he stared at Bailey, astonished. "Bailey... I, I thought... Why are you treating me like we don't even know each other?" Aidan's voice was coming out in a cracked, shaky whisper. "We, we've been friends since, since we were little. Why, why do you...?"

But he couldn't continue; his vision was blurring, and he felt a horrible stinging on his face, arms, and legs. The metallic taste of his own blood nauseated him, and swallowing made his stomach churn.

"Let me guess," Bailey said slowly, moving so that he was nearly nose to nose with Aidan. In response, he tried to strike with his hands, but the rope cut into his wrist, making him wince. "You want to know why I've suddenly decided to do all of this?"

He nodded weakly, the dizziness increasing as blood continued to drip down his arms. Bailey suddenly stepped back, and before Aidan could even process what he was going to do, he felt the skin on his thighs split painfully.

Hot blood streamed down his legs, and he cringed, grimacing. Another thrust of Bailey's wand caused gashes to appear on Aidan's stomach, and yet another tore the skin on his back.

Aidan pressed his lips together and breathed through his nose, trying to keep himself quiet.

"Not having fun, are you?" Bailey asked, his tone sickeningly sweet.

Aidan didn't reply; he was much too focused on not losing consciousness.

"I hope this teaches you not to meddle in shit that doesn't concern you."

"Forgive, forgive me for trying... to do what a best friend is... supposed to do," Aidan whispered weakly.

Bailey glowered at him. "Things change, Aidan."

Another set of gashes appeared on Aidan, this time on his face. Blood gushed into his mouth, making him retch. His breathing was coming so fast now that he was almost hyperventilating.

"I don't have to explain much to you, then, since you were so kind enough to intrude." Bailey stood a few feet from Aidan, his gaze locked on his blood-spattered face. "You asked why I'm doing all this? You asked why I seemed so 'off'? Well, as I'm sure you noticed, they have my brother, Aidan. They've captured him, and they won't let him go until I do what they want."

Aidan coughed violently; the movement caused the gashes to spray blood all over the ground near him. He cringed yet again as he felt his clothes stick to him, making the cuts sting.

"And... what, what d-do they want?" he gasped.

Bailey struck again; he kicked Aidan hard in the shin. He barely suppressed a cry of pain as he slammed against the tree. Stars danced in and out of focus, and he felt extremely lightheaded.

"Fucking dumb," he spat, pulling on Aidan's wrist.

The rope cut further into him, and he felt the excruciating, gut-wrenching pain of his ligaments tearing in response. He couldn't stand it anymore; his low tolerance for pain had been something that he had always detested. His stomach gave a lurch, and before he could stop himself, he vomited, blood and bile mixing as it splattered to the earth.

"You know what they want," Bailey whispered menacingly, ignoring Aidan's reactions. "I know you do. You heard them say so."

Vomiting had left Aidan extremely weak and dizzy; only sheer determination kept him from losing consciousness. Bailey would surely kill him. But the question still seemed to burn through him. Why him? Why was Bailey suddenly so angry with him, so much so that he had gone this far?

Bailey stared coldly at Aidan, his expression one of disgust.

"Look at you," he said scornfully. "Supposedly one of the best young Aurors there are, and you can't even handle a beating." He shook his head, sighing dramatically. "Shame. And they thought _you were the better one." He kicked the pile of glass left by Aidan's broken spectacles. "They gave _you higher marks on your exams. They said _you were better suited for Auror training than I was."

"Th-they, they never—"

"YOU KNOW THEY DID!" he shouted in Aidan's face, making him cringe. Bailey was breathing hard now, and to Aidan, he seemed almost mad with rage and... was it jealousy?

Bailey began to pace, his sneakers slipping somewhat on the blood-soaked ground. "Pitiful! Stupid! Fucking stupid!"

He shoved Aidan hard, and Aidan felt himself slipping slowly out of consciousness. He fought desperately to stay awake, but the more he tried, the harder it became. The sound of Bailey's incessant pacing still brushed against Aidan's ears, but there was also another sound.

He tried to make himself pay more attention, and, after a long moment, it came to him. Sobbing. Someone was sobbing uncontrollably, and it was almost as if the person were nearby. Bailey's rhythmic footsteps stopped abruptly, and it sounded as if someone had fallen to the ground, the sobbing becoming slightly muffled.

With substantial effort, Aidan forced his eyes open. If he hadn't been on the verge of loss of consciousness, Aidan would have gasped. Bailey was lying on the ground nearby, his face buried in his hands. His shoulders were shaking violently, and his entire body seemed to be convulsing with sobs.

"B-Bailey..."

Bailey's head snapped up and he stared at Aidan. His eyes were wide and blank. He had gotten to his feet so fast that Aidan was sure this would be the final blow.

Sure enough, he felt the worst agony yet as even more gashes appeared, this time on his chest.

"B-Bailey," Aidan gasped painfully. "P-p-p-p-please!"

"SHUT UP!" Bailey screamed, throwing himself at Aidan.

Aidan heard a scream tear from his own throat as they both fell to the ground. More blood poured out of Aidan's nearly mutilated body, and he was sure that, lying there, he was going to die.

He heard Bailey's sobs become more anguished, though they sounded oddly far away now, as if he was listening to them while standing at the top of a canyon. After what seemed like an eternity, the sound of leaves crunching could be heard as Bailey slowly lifted himself into a sitting position.

"FUCK!" Aidan heard him scream, and his sobs started up again.

An odd feeling crept over Aidan then, the sort of feeling one gets when soaking in a warm, soothing bath. Pain seemed to leave him in waves, and he felt as if he was lying on the softest material ever created. The sounds of Bailey's sobs seemed to lessen, too.

He realized with terror that he was losing consciousness, and quickly. With what seemed to be the last of his inner strength, he shoved against the darkness that was unconsciousness, and certainly, death. He was brought back to the dense thicket, and along with his fading senses came the searing pain that surged through his body. He knew opening his eyes had been a mistake the moment he had done it, because the sight made him want to throw up again.

Blood covered his clothes, and it was streaming down his face and arms. Bailey knelt with his back pressed against a tree, his face concealed by his hands.

"B-Bailey...?" His throat felt dry.

"Get the fuck out of here!" Bailey choked out.

Aidan tried to sit up, but he could barely move. "I, I, I can't—was

"JUST FUCKING SHUT UP, AIDAN!"

Aidan tried to sit up again, but the movement left him terribly dizzy, and his stomach gave a lurch that made him anxious. He saw the tip of Bailey's wand press against his forehead, and the next thing he knew, he was spinning, spinning, spinning... then, blackness closed around him, and he saw no more.

{Author's Note: In reference to Bailey's use of the word 'retarded', please understand that it does not reflect my own views on the word. I do not mean any offense to anyone by my character's language. It is merely a reflection of their personalities.}


	21. Chapter 21

Christian stared up at the clock for what seemed to be the umpteenth time that afternoon. It was nearly seven thirty, and his brother still wasn't home. He had seen Aidan right after the trainees had been dismissed, and he had said that he would be home in half an hour or sdd/

At first, he had thought that Aidan was merely running late, but over the course of the past two hours, Christian had gone through several emotions, including irritation, impatience, and lastly, concern. A hand on his shoulder startled him out of his reverie.

"Sorry," came the soft, somewhat worried voice of his girlfriend, Keyana.

Christian exhaled, placing his hand over hers. "It, it's fine."

"He still isn't here?"

"Nope."

"And you're sure he didn't say he'd be gone for this long?"

"He only said he'd be half an hour. That was over two hours ago."

Keyana sighed, a slight furrow appearing in her brow. "I'm sure he'll come soon," she said in an attempt to reassure him. "Just, just try not to worry so much."

"I can't just not worry," Christian protested. "He's my younger brother!"

"I know, love, I know. I hadn't meant to make you angry, I just—"

"I know," he sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm just, this is stressing me out. Aidan's never been late before. He always tells me—"

But what Aidan always told him he never said, because at that moment, a loud _thud came from the porch. Christian jumped to his feet and bounded toward the door, wrenching it open with a flick of his wrist.

The sight that lay before him was so gruesome that he clapped a hand to his mouth to keep back the scream that threatened to escape him. Aidan lay spread-eagled on the porch, his clothes torn and stained with copious amounts of blood. His face was nearly mutilated; the frames of his glasses were bent and mangled, and the glass was missing entirely from them. Through the tears in his clothing, Christian could see long, deep gashes in his brother's skin, making him look like butchered meat.

"Holy shit...!"

As Christian looked him up and down, he realized with horror that the gashes were _everywhere. He swerved to avoid stepping on Aidan as he threw up over the porch railing.

"Chris?"

He tried to compose himself before Keyana could see him. He felt as if he had been thrust into the worst horror movie ever imagined.

"K-K-K-Keyana!" he stammered, barely able to make his mouth work. "Please don't come out here!"

"Why?" she asked, hearing the fear in his voice. "What—"

A piercing, bone-chilling scream filled the air, and Christian was forced to accept the fact that this was something he wouldn't be waking up from.

"Wh-wh-what... what, what happened to him?!" Keyana's voice was shaking, and tears welled up in her eyes as she looked away from Aidan.

"I don't know!" Christian choked out, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

Forcing himself to suppress his queasiness, he knelt beside his brother, placing a finger on the inside of Aidan's wrist. "He has a pulse," he whispered. "He's alive, he's still alive..."

Keyana drew her wand, and a few seconds later, towels landed beside Christian. The next few minutes were a blur-Christian and Keyana worked together, frantically sealing Aidan's gashes and trying to clean the blood from him. Christian had torn off the rest of Aidan's uniform and had wrapped him in towels.

By the time they had finished sealing all of his wounds and placing a splint on his damaged wrist, the chill of the evening had set in, and Aidan was shivering. He hadn't regained consciousness, which worried Christian greatly. Being as gentle as possible, he took his brother into his arms and carried him inside, only slightly hindered by the extra weight.

"D'you think a warm bath would help him?" Keyana asked as she followed Christian.

"Maybe, but what he really needs is a blood replenishing potion."

"I'll get it," she said, dashing away.

Christian gazed worriedly at Aidan as he carried him into the bathroom. He propped Aidan up against the wall, his hands shaking the entire time.

It took much longer than it should have for the bathtub to partially fill with water. The whole while, he had tried to wake Aidan with some gentle prodding, which hadn't worked.

"Come on, little bro, _please wake up," Christian murmured breathlessly as he placed Aidan in the warm water, making sure not to let his head fall below its surface.

He worked for nearly ten minutes, meticulously scrubbing the remaining blood from his brother's skin. It unnerved him to see Aidan so pale and still. He jumped when he felt Keyana's hand on his arm.

"Sorry, sorry. Here, tip his head back a bit, I'll give it to him."

Christian obeyed, and Keyana gently opened Aidan's mouth, slowly pouring the contents of the vial she held into it. Aidan reflexively swallowed it, and when there was no more left, Keyana sighed and placed the empty vial on the counter.

Twenty minutes later, Christian had Aidan dressed in pajamas and wrapped in a warm blanket. He was pacing beside his brother's bed, his brow creased with anxiety.

"Chris," Keyana murmured from the doorway. "Please, just come and eat. I'm sure—"

"No," Christian said shakily. "I'm not leaving him."

She sighed. "Fine. Do you want me to—"

"No, Keyana. I, I can't eat right now."

She sighed again and left, resigned. Christian continued to pace beside Aidan's bed, his eyes never leaving his brother's face. The potion had returned some of Aidan's color, but he was still so unnaturally still. He had finally stopped his pacing to catch his breath when he saw Aidan's eyelids flicker. He gasped and knelt beside the bed, his hand resting gently over Aidan's.

"Little bro?"

Aidan's eyelids continued to flicker for a few moments, and a strange expression crossed his face.

"Where, where am I?" he stammered feebly.

"You're home, Aidan," Christian said, tears of relief springing to his eyes.

It took a moment, but Christian's words seemed to finally register with Aidan. "What, what happened?"

"That's what _I wanted to ask _you," Christian replied. "You promised you'd be home three hours ago. Nearly an hour ago, we found you on the porch all covered in, in blood and these horrible gashes."

Aidan was staring at Christian as if he had just said that a Blast-Ended Skrewt was living in his closet. "Huh?"

"You, you don't remember?"

"No... should I?"

Christian frowned. "I mean, I would think that after nearly being slashed to death, you might just remember a detail or two."

Aidan's eyes were wide. "That bad?"

"Yes, it was that bad!" Christian's voice had risen in volume with sudden anxiety, and he had started pacing again. "Aidan, for a while I thought you..." He couldn't make himself finish the dreadful thought that had haunted him for nearly an hour.

Aidan's hand caught hold of Christian's as he passed, and he was forced to stop.

"But I'm not," Aidan whispered. "I, I don't know what you're talking about exactly, but, but I don't want you to be so upset, Chris."

"Not be upset?" Christian's eyes widened in shock. "Aidan, for a whole fucking hour I thought I'd lost you! I thought, I thought I'd..."

Christian turned away from Aidan, but he had still seen the tears make their way slowly down his older brother's face. Aidan blinked, taken aback. He had only seen Christian cry once, and that hadn't really counted because it hadn't been in front of him.

He had gone downstairs one night when he was twelve and had seen Christian sitting at the dining room table, his head lowered over a photo album. When he had caught Aidan watching him, he immediately closed the album and said, "Don't ask anything."

Seeing Christian cry now made Aidan feel terrible, mostly because he had no idea why he was doing so in the first place.

"I'm sorry," he whispered finally, a wave of exhaustion washing over him.

Christian turned slowly, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "It's fine. At least you're all right now."

"Yeah."

But Aidan didn't feel 'all right', at least not entirely. He was still extremely confused, and more than a little sleepy.

As had always seemed to happen, Christian guessed his emotions exactly. He sighed and knelt down beside the bed again, gently ruffling Aidan's hair.

"Hey, it's fine. Just relax, okay? I'm sure you've had a rough night, and at least you're here now."

"Thanks, Chris," Aidan murmured as his eyes grew heavy.

"Of course. That's what I'm here for." He sighed again. "You don't want anything? Some tea, maybe?"

Aidan shook his head, already falling asleep.

"All right."

Christian got to his feet. As he watched Aidan fall asleep, he felt strangely conflicted. He was incredibly relieved that Aidan had finally regained consciousness, but the fact that he couldn't remember what had happened to him was disconcerting. Aidan began to snore gently then, something he did only when he was exhausted.

As christian stared off into space, he thought about the two people he loved, and missed, dearly. His eyes moved up to the photograph on the wall, the only one he had allowed Aidan to have. He hoped they were proud of him. He hoped they saw how hard he had worked to raise Aidan, how hard he had worked to provide for himself and a nine-year-old when everyone had believed so firmly that he would sooner leave Aidan to fend for himself before he took responsibility for him.

There was still so much he was keeping from Aidan, and he realized that although it may have seemed like a good idea at the time, it wasn't so anymore. Every night, Christian would think about the past seventeen years, and how it could have been different if the events that night hadn't occurred.

Aidan wouldn't have been his responsibility. He wouldn't have had to raise a kid when he had been one himself, much preferring to teach Aidan how to throw garden gnomes at passersby than to sit down with him and teach him Mathematics or Grammar. Still, Aidan had turned out well, much better than even Christian himself had.

He mentally shook himself. He couldn't let himself get so lost in all of this around his brother. With a tired sigh, he reached down and fiddled with a few strands of Aidan's hair. With a yawn, he turned to go. He glanced back at Aidan one more time, before he crept silently from the room and went downstairs to join Keyana.


	22. Chapter 22

"This is odd," Ron said to Harry and Neville as they stood together, sipping mugs of butterbeer that Hermione had dropped off a few moments before.

"What time is it, Harry?" Neville asked.

Harry glanced at his watch. "Eight ten."

"Would've thought Mr. Confidence would be here by now," Ron muttered. "You know he's always looking for a good chance to make all of us miserable."

Around them, several of the trainees were staring at their own watches or asking others the time. They were just as confused as Harry and his friends. Why hadn't Bailey shown up yet?

"Even if Bailey wasn't here," Harry heard another trainee say. "At least Aidan would have been here, right?"

"He's got a point," Neville said. "Aidan's never late."

It was then that a thought struck Harry, and he frowned.

"What is it, mate?" Ron asked.

Harry cast a furtive glance around before he spoke quietly. "Don't you guys see the coincidence?" When his friends stared uncomprehendingly at him, Harry sighed. "We'd told Aidan yesterday about Bailey, and today, neither of them are on time."

"What're you saying?" Neville asked, slightly bewildered.

After a long moment, Ron's eyes widened in understanding. "You think that's why they're not here? You think Aidan's questioning him?"

"Dunno," said Harry. "It's a definite possibility, though."

As the minutes continued to tick by, Harry found himself pondering every possibility. With everything going on, Ron seemed to have put his anger toward him about the breakup with Ginny on the back burner, at least for the time being, which suited Harry. In truth, he hadn't thought about it much since Sunday. He knew that he would eventually have to face it sooner or later, but the whole thing with Bailey had occupied his full attention.

The tumult of conversation seemed to die as a figure appeared some distance from the track. It wasn't Bailey or Aidan, but Christian.

"Sorry for the wait, you guys," he said as he approached them. "We had a bit of a situation."

Several of the trainees nodded slowly, looks of confusion appearing on everyone's faces. Harry saw something in Christian's eyes, something that looked like anger.

"Shall we get started, then?"

With a murmur of assent, the crowd of Aurors-in-training dispersed, beginning to jog casually onto the track.

Harry, Ron, and Neville were the last to move. But Harry wasn't beginning his exercises. Instead, he made his way over to Christian.

"Hello, Harry," he said, giving him a slight smile.

Something about his expression made Harry think that there was something wrong. He looked stressed, and he didn't seem as casual and easygoing as he usually was.

"Er, Christian?"

"Yeah?"

"Where's Aidan?"

Harry saw Christian's body stiffen almost imperceptibly—he could have sworn it had been a trick of his eyes.

"He'll be in later today to teach Potions and Poisons."

His answer had done nothing to satisfy Harry, and he had opened his mouth to speak when Christian put up a hand.

"Maybe you should get started, Harry."

It hadn't been an order, but Harry knew better than to push his luck. He turned to leave, if a bit reluctantly, and jogged onto the track, joining Neville and Ron.

"What'd he—"

"Aidan's coming in to teach our Potions and Poisons class."

"That's it?"

Harry nodded.

"Hmm." Ron was shaking his head, looking as unconvinced as Harry felt.

"What do you think happened?" Neville asked.

They were now jogging alongside each other. Though Bailey wasn't supervising today, they didn't want to risk anything.

"I dunno," Harry said slowly.

For a long while, neither of them spoke. Harry was trying to put all the pieces together, but they didn't seem to want to fit. There was something that Christian wasn't telling him, that much he knew. Why were both Aidan and Bailey absent? Why had Christian seemed so tense?

Harry was determined to get to Potions and Poisons early that afternoon. When he pushed the door open, he immediately looked around for Aidan. He had expected to see him standing at the front of the large room as he always did, grinning and looking somewhat casual. But today, he was standing with his back to Harry, and he didn't turn around when he entered.

"Aidan?" Harry asked tentatively.

Aidan jumped slightly—Harry had seen the muscles in his back tense. He heard something fall with a clatter, and the unmistakable sound of glass shattering reached him, too.

"I'm sorry," Harry said quickly as he went to go help Aidan clean up what he was sure was some sort of potion.

"Don't worry, Harry," he said, bending slightly to pick something up off the ground. Harry heard him mutter, "_Reparo.", and the glass disappeared.

Aidan picked up a second object off the ground, and Harry heard a sigh come from him. After a moment, Aidan turned to face him.

A sinking feeling came into Harry's stomach. Aidan looked unwell—there was a pallor to his face that Harry hadn't seen before, and there were slight bags under his eyes. His gaze, which had always been very alert and watchful, now seemed weary and anxious.

"Aidan... are, are you all right?"

He nodded, though it looked shaky. "Just a bit tired, that's all."

Harry didn't know why, but he suspected that there was more to how Aidan was feeling than simply tiredness. He was barely able to pay proper attention to the lecture on finding poison in one's drink. It startled Harry to see the change in Aidan—by the time he had dismissed the trainees, he was even paler, and it looked like only his will was keeping him upright.

"Damn," Ron said as he tucked his wand back into his cloak. "He looks like he's going to be sick, doesn't he?"

"Yeah," Harry said absently. He still felt troubled by it all. Where was Bailey?

He spotted Christian as he entered the room, and a sudden urge nagged at Harry, the same urge that had gotten him into trouble many times at Hogwarts. Cursing himself, he beckoned to Ron and Neville. "Act like you're leaving," he mouthed to them.

They stared at him, confused, but they obeyed anyway. They waved casually to Christian, who waved back. Neville turned suddenly, and he cleared his throat.

"Christian?" he asked. "Can I ask you a question? I need something cleared up about the benefits of using Invisibility Cloaks over Concealment Charms."

The expression Neville gave Harry was one that said that he needed nothing of the sort. Harry gave him a slight nod; all the same, he was thankful for Neville's diversion.

"Sure," Christian said, and he and Neville instantly launched into a discussion about cloaks and charms.

Harry took his opportunity. He slipped passed Christian and made his way into one of the large closets in the back of the room. He was sure Aidan would have seen him, but he seemed so out of it that he hadn't even noticed Harry.

After a few minutes, Neville left, thanking Christian for his help. As the door closed, Harry saw Christian turn slowly to face his brother. Christian still looked strained.

"You look terrible, little bro," he said, crossing the room to Aidan.

Aidan had slumped into a chair, and his hands were covering his face.

"Are you sure you don't want to get checked out?"

"Not necessary," Aidan said, his voice muffled by his hands. "I just, I'm just tired. I didn't really sleep well last night."

Christian frowned, clearly not believing his brother's explanation. "Come on. The sooner I get you home, the better."

Aidan blinked as he slowly got to his feet. The longer Harry watched, the more unsettled he became. He didn't dare move until he was sure Aidan and Christian had gone. He pushed open the door to the cupboard and dashed out of the room, the door slamming behind him.

He found Ron and Neville waiting for him by the diner, casually nibbling French fries.

"What happened?" Ron asked, shoving three of them into his mouth at once.

"Nothing," Harry said. His own shock and skepticism was reflected in his friends' eyes.

"Nothing?"

"Well, nothing of importance, at least. Christian doesn't seem to know what's wrong with Aidan either."

"Bizarre," Neville remarked.

"Yeah, no kidding. He really did look like he wanted to just pass out then and there."

"What do you guys think happened?" Ron asked.

"I think Bailey had something to do with it," Harry said at once. "I mean, is it really a coincidence that he didn't show up today?"

"Even he takes a day off, mate," Ron said.

"I know, but it's just strange. Bailey and Aidan don't show up on time, and when Aidan does, he looks awful. It's no secret that Bailey hates him for constantly telling him off."

Ron sighed. "I think we should just see what happens. That way, we can be absolutely sure."

Harry sighed, but nodded reluctantly.

For the rest of that afternoon, Harry couldn't stop thinking about it, even when Hayley had called him. He had told her, and she seemed to believe he was right, but she advised him to be careful. Harry found that he was determined to figure it all out, and he would stop at nothing to do that.


	23. Chapter 23

Aidan sat up with a jolt. His heart was hammering, and he was drenched in sweat. He slumped back against his pillow, trying to breathe deeply. It had been the second time he had woken up in the past two hours. He had been sure that the nightmares would have stopped, but they remained as vivid as ever. Blood, lots of it, covering him, soaking through his clothes... pain, terrible pain...

He sat up again, feeling his stomach clench. If only they would just stop. He didn't even know why they were happening in the first place. The past two days had been strange: first, the confrontation with Bailey after training, then, finding himself lying on his bed with Christian telling him that he almost died. What the hell had it all been about?

Too confused and anxious to sleep anymore, he got to his feet, yawned, and walked slowly out of his room and into the bathroom. After washing his face, he headed slowly downstairs, rubbing his eyes.

He had just stepped off the staircase when he heard the low, distinct sound of his brother's voice. Christian was speaking so quietly that it was hard for Aidan to hear him. Aidan took a few steps forward, being careful not to make a sound.

"I don't know what the fuck is going on, but I am damn sure that he had something to do with it."

"Christian, please don't jump to conclusions."

Aidan had to stifle the urge to gasp. His uncle, Cameron, was in the living room. When did he come, and most importantly, _why? They only saw their other relatives once or twice a year, mainly because both sides of the family were scattered all over the United Kingdom.

"I'm not jumping to conclusions, I'm merely stating the facts. Bailey didn't show up to the training fields today, and just last night Aidan nearly died and he has no memory of it whatsoever? I'm sorry, but that seems awfully dodgy to me."

"He doesn't remember _anything?"

"Nope. I asked him, and he said he only remembers talking to Bailey after we dismissed the trainees, and he said he only remembers waking up here after that."

"Odd."

"Exactly."

"But you really think Bailey did something to him?"

"I'm positive."

"But... why? I mean, what makes you think—"

"He's never been Aidan's friend," Christian said irritatedly. "Half the time I swear he just acted like it."

"How do you—"

"Damn it, because I fucking raised Aidan! Every fucking holiday they'd come home, and I'd see the way he'd look at Aidan when he had his back turned."

"Okay, there's no need for the language, Christian."

He sighed, and it was a long moment before he spoke again.

"Fine, sorry. So what do we do?"

"Well, you're an Auror. You should know the procedures for suspected criminal activity."

"It's proving that Bailey did it that will be the tough part," he muttered.

Cameron sighed. "I suppose you'd better get started, then."

Aidan heard the creak of the couch as someone got to their feet. He hurriedly went into the kitchen and acted as if he was in the middle of pouring himself a drink. Sure enough, he heard Christian clear his throat as he came in.

"Hey, little bro."

"Hey."

"Feelin' all right?"

"Yeah." Aidan cleared his throat a little as he took a sip of pumpkin juice.

Christian sighed as he prepared the tea kettle. "Hungry?"

"Kind of."

"In the mood for anything in particular?"

"No."

"Hello there, Aidan!" Cameron said with a grin as he entered the kitchen. He gave his younger nephew a clap on the shoulder.

"Hello, Uncle Cameron."

"All right?"

Aidan nodded. He stared into his glass of pumpkin juice, suddenly wishing he hadn't gotten out of bed. He listened halfheartedly to Cameron and Christian talking about the upcoming Quidditch season. He couldn't shake off the weird feeling that stuck to him like glue. He finished off his glass before standing.

"Where're you going, little bro?" Christian asked as Aidan's cup was washing itself and he was heading toward the kitchen's exit.

"I'm just going to go back to bed."

"You're not going to eat?"

"I'll just eat later." He could feel their eyes on him as he moved slowly out of the kitchen. When he reached the stairs, he leaned against the railing for a second, staring blankly at the antique grandfather clock. It was only six twenty-eight. He had fallen asleep at nearly five o'clock.

Groaning inwardly, he climbed the staircase. He left his bedroom door open a crack as he flopped wearily onto the bed, his eyes closing. He concentrated on slowing his breathing.

_Relax your muscles, starting with the ones in your _toes, he thought to himself. _Then work your way upwards: your feet, your ankles, your calves, your thighs... Breathe slowly, in and out, in and out, in and ou... Slowly, steadily, in and _out...

A cacophony of sound that was too far in his unconsciousness for him to retrieve... A hot, sticky fluid was running down his entire body, coating his hands, his face, his clothes. He tried to run, but even the ground was covered in it. His shoes kept slipping, and more than once he had to spread his arms out to steady himself.

"What is this?" he called out to no one in particular.

He expected to receive no answer, but it still made him uneasy when he didn't get one. He tried again, taking a few tentative steps forward. His shoes didn't slip, so he quickened his pace. He succeeded, but when he tried to run, his balance was thrown off and he fell facedown.

His heart began to pound madly when his senses registered what the liquid was.

"No!" he cried out, and the next thing he knew, blood was spattering his face, making him unable to speak clearly. He felt as if he was drowning in his own blood.

He beat frantically against the dirt with his fists, but he achieved nothing but to make his hands bloody. This was impossible. How could there be so much of it? Feeling almost claustrophobic, Aidan cried out and thrashed and kicked, but nothing seemed to work. So much blood, so much blood—

Aidan flew out of bed so fast that he keeled over, landing on the carpet with a _thump. Scrambling, he half-crawled out of the room and into the bathroom, where he vomited. Thinking about the blood only made him even queasier, so he did his best to block out the gruesome image.

"Aidan!"

A frantic pounding on the stairs let him know that Christian was coming. Perfect.

"Aidan, are you all right?"

"F-fine," he stammered, hurriedly flushing the toilet and staggering to his feet to wash his face.

He had just dried himself off when his older brother peered in through the partially open door.

"Aidan, you—"

"I'm fine," he insisted breathlessly. "Just, just a bad dream, that's all."

"About what?" Christian frowned as he helped a dazed Aidan back to bed.

"There, there was... there was blood, Chris. So, so much, so much of it..."

Christian's frown deepened. He knew Aidan couldn't handle the sight of blood very well, especially his own. It had become apparent when Aidan had been six. He had fallen off his broomstick and skinned his knees and elbows. At seeing the blood, Aidan had gone into such a panic that it had taken nearly an hour for him to calm down. Now, his breathing was slowly becoming faster and shallower.

"Aidan, relax, okay? Just relax. Come on, breathe deeply."

"I have something that will help." Cameron entered the room, holding up a small vial.

"Brilliant!" Christian said, grinning at his uncle.

Cameron grinned back as he knelt beside the bed. Christian continued to speak quietly to his brother as Cameron slowly poured the potion into his mouth. Within seconds, Aidan's breathing was slowing down, and it didn't take long before his eyes closed and he was sound asleep.

"He won't dream," Cameron said, as if Christian didn't know what the potion was supposed to do.

He sighed. "Why do you think he dreamt about blood?"

"Dunno. Nightmare?"

"Yeah, I suppose, but..." Christian shook his head and frowned. There just had to be more to all of this. Why was Aidan dreaming about blood so suddenly, when it was the one thing he hated most?

Christian exhaled slowly. He could feel a headache coming on.

"I think you should sleep, too," said Cameron quietly. "You look just as tired."

"I just might," Christian said. "We both need to catch up on sleep."

So after making sure that Aidan was all right, Christian went to his own room, turned on the fan, and lay down, though he didn't fall asleep right away. He had assured Cameron that they would be fine, but he wondered exactly how true those words were. He eventually fell into a troubled sleep, still unable to figure out why his brother was acting so strangely. He vowed he would figure it out, though. And when it came to Bailey, he swore that he would uncover the truth about him, too.


	24. Chapter 24

The next two weeks didn't provide Harry with much comfort. Ginny was still refusing to speak to him, and he and Ron had finally talked about it over tea one evening. Although Ron had initially been angry with Harry for breaking his sister's heart, he had grudgingly accepted the apology, and they were back to being friends, if only being more guarded when speaking about Ginny.

Training had become more demanding in preparation for the annual exams that would soon be coming up. Bailey had returned, though his demeanor had changed. He seemed more on edge lately—he would snap at anyone when they spoke to him, and he wasn't as cocky or overconfident as everyone had come to expect. His attitude toward Harry hadn't changed at all, however. In fact, he seemed to be glaring at Harry whenever he thought nobody was looking.

As if that wasn't puzzling enough, things between Bailey and Aidan seemed to be different, too. They would barely speak to each other, and when they did, it was usually in one- or two-word phrases. Harry noticed that Christian would glare at Bailey's turned back. Tensions between the three Aurors were extremely high.

Despite this, though, Ron kept trying to reassure Harry that whatever was going on, it didn't affect them. But Harry wasn't entirely convinced of this, and he found himself thinking about it nearly all the time.

"Bye, Harry," Aidan said as everyone was leaving Potions and Poisons.

"Bye, Aidan."

Harry had noticed that Bailey was nowhere to be seen, but admittedly, he wasn't as concerned as he should have been.

As Harry, Ron, and Neville walked toward the Ministry, Ron said, "Are you guys still coming to dinner tonight with Hermione and me?"

"Yep," Harry and Neville said simultaneously.

Harry was excited; he was going to meet Hayley before going to dinner at Hermione and Ron's. Among the many things he had thought about lately, his feelings for her was one of them. They had been spending some time together over the last two weeks, and he couldn't help but feel like there was much more than just friendship on his mind.

The prospect of telling her made him nervous, though. What if she didn't feel the same way? What if he was going much too fast?

"Oi, Harry!"

He jumped slightly; he hadn't realized Ron had spoken to him at all. "Huh?"

"I'll see you soon, then?"

"Oh, yeah. At six thirty, right?"

"Yeah. You know you can come earlier, though."

"Yeah. Thanks."

He watched Neville and Ron Disapparate, but he didn't follow suit as he usually did. Instead, he continued walking along the road, heading in the opposite direction of the diner. As he strolled leisurely along, he let his mind drift back to Hayley. He couldn't help but feel like there could be so much more in terms of their relationship. He loved the fact that she made him laugh so easily, that she understood him, that she knew how he felt just by glancing at his expression—-

A hand snatched his wrist visciously, and Harry lashed out, reflexively sending a backwards kick with his right foot. He heard a grunt as his sneaker collided with something hard.

"What the—"

As Harry glanced back, he felt his throat go dry.

"Bailey?"

Bailey said nothing as he gripped Harry's arm firmly, almost making him wince. The all-too-familiar rapid spinning and the feeling of near suffocation that came with Apparition sent a jolt through Harry. They landed clumsily, and he fell to his knees with a gasp.

The first thing he noticed was that wherever they were, it was cold and dark. He squinted as his eyes readjusted to the lack of lighting.

He stared into the face of the Auror who had despised him since the first day they had crossed paths. A sudden, sharp wave of fear overwhelmed him. Bailey was glaring at him with a look that could kill. His face was a horrible pallid color, and his eyes... Harry had seen eyes like those before, and they gave him no comfort whatsoever. They were the eyes of someone who had gone truly mad, who no longer had any moral values, who no longer comprehended the difference between right and wrong, who would do anything to get what they desired, even if it meant taking someone's life.

A laugh from the corner of the room made Harry jump. As he glanced around, he realized that they were not alone. Nearly twenty people stood in a circle against the wall, and they were gazing at Harry with expressions that ranged from malice to a kind of vindictive glee that sent a chill down Harry's spine. He realized with dread that they must have been the Death Eaters that managed to escape in the frenzy of the battle's aftermath.

"I've done what you've asked," Bailey said, addressing a man with a particularly cruel face and wild blonde hair that reached his waist. The man gave Bailey a look that made him take a step away from Harry.

"Took you long enough," the man said. He had a voice that seemed devoid of any emotion—any positive ones, for that matter.

A slight tinge of red touched Bailey's face, and Harry couldn't help but feel a bit of satisfaction at seeing something like suppressed anger in his eyes.

"Now, Ben," the man to the left of the wild-haired one said, addressing him. "Let's not spoil the moment with negativity. Indeed"—he was looking at Bailey now—"it _is a cause for celebration. But before we get too excited—" He drew his wand so quickly that Harry had barely seen it before he felt himself being wrenched out of Bailey's grip. He gasped and chanced a glance downward. He was slowly rising into the air, held by an invisible force.

"_Expelliarmus!" Bailey muttered.

Harry's wand flew from his cloak pocket, landing right in Ben's outstretched hand. A feeling of powerlessness overwhelmed Harry. He tried to move his hands, to kick, to do anything, but he found that he was essentially paralyzed as he hung in midair.

"Now," the second man said, smiling slightly. "We can celebrate."

The crowd of onlookers fidgeted with excited anticipation.

"Ben, would you like to do the honors?"

"Gladly," Ben said, a horrible smile playing across his face. Harry tensed as Ben raised his wand. "_Crucio!"

A terrible, gut-wrenching pain overcame Harry, and he heard a cry of agony tear from his own throat as the crowd laughed heartily. Harry fought against the pain, trying desperately to think coherently.

"And _this is who defeated the Dark Lord," Ben said mockingly. "A mere child."

Harry continued his attempts to resist the curse. Ben seemed to notice his success, because he glowered at Harry.

"You think you're brave?" he growled. "Well, two can play your little game, boy!"

The pain was twice as bad as it had been the first time, and Harry couldn't prevent the shudder that ran down his body.

"It's not so much fun anymore, is it, Potter?" he heard Ben snarl.

When Harry didn't answer, the pain increased further, causing him to inhale sharply.

Bailey looked on, his expression blank and cold.

Harry tried to understand what he had been thrust into. Wasn't Bailey an Auror? Granted, he knew that when Voldemort had been alive, Aurors were some of the first Ministry workers he would place under his control, and he also knew that Death Eaters were still out there, waiting. Was this what they had stood by for? Had Bailey always been one of them?

Another thought occurred to Harry. Did Aidan know? He refused to believe for a second that Aidan was one of them, too. He just couldn't see it. The past few weeks suddenly made a bit more sense. He now understood why Bailey seemed so tense and edgy. He thought about the day that Aidan hadn't been well, the day after he, Ron, and Neville had gone to him with suspicions about Bailey. Was it possible that Aidan had been hurt? Harry knew he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he had caused Aidan to be hurt over suspicions that, although they were true, had been somewhat trivial at that time.

"Apparently," Ben said, bringing him back to the cold, dark cellar. "I'm being much too soft on you, Potter."

And the next thing Harry knew, he felt nothing but pain, heard nothing but his own scream, saw nothing but sparks dancing in and out of his vision. Any desire to fight it was slowly ebbing as he struggled feverishly, gaining nothing but more pain and jeering from the Death Eaters.

"This is fun," he heard Ben say. "I could do this all night. What about you, Potter?"

Harry's instinct was to retort defiantly, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was a pained groan.

"I take that as a yes," came Ben's voice. A soft laugh escaped him as Harry felt another round of pain.

Evening rolled slowly into night, but the Death Eaters didn't move from their spots, watching the torture session with rapt attention. After nearly five hours, Harry was so exhausted that whenever Ben would forget to increase the pain, he would nod off, only to be forced awake by the agony of the curse. Ben had ordered Bailey to destroy Harry's house as thoroughly as he could without magic.

"To make it look like Muggles broke in," he'd said. "It'll send the Aurors into a frenzy. They'll be too occupied trying to find out who had broken into Potter's house to find us in a timely manner."

Harry was almost delirious from the pain—when he could open his eyes, he would see double or even tripple, and the ground seemed to pitch and roll if he glanced downward.

After what seemed to Harry like an eternity, Ben's wand lowered.

"Are we going to kill him now?" another Death Eater asked eagerly.

Ben grinned, but shook his head. "No. We wait until the Ministry has been alerted of his disappearance. We wait until one of the Aurors comes to get him. Bailey, you will go back to the Auror Office tomorrow as usual, and make sure that you are one of the Aurors sent to look for Harry Potter."

"Yes, sir," came Bailey's barely audible reply. He cleared his throat, his gaze shifting nervously to Harry, who was rigid, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. He thought about his brother, and, though he wondered if Jack would be released, he didn't dare ask.

As if he had read Bailey's mind, Ben chuckled softly. "You were wondering when your beloved brother would be released, were you not, Bailey?"

Suddenly feeling nervous, he nodded.

Ben sighed deeply, as if he was trying to come up with the solution to a particularly difficult problem. "I suppose you have given your brother his freedom."

Bailey fought back the urge to smile broadly with relief. "Thank you, Ben. Connor."

The two Death Eaters nodded stiffly.

"Go release the boy," Ben said to another Death Eater without looking at him.

The Death Eater stalked off to do as he was told.

Ben had just made Harry cringe and groan when Connor pulled Ben's arm down. Ben glared at him, but he didn't seem to pay any attention to him.

"What do you want to do now, then?" ben asked with exasperation.

"You can get back to that in the morning," Connor said. "But we've got a big day tomorrow, and we must all be at our peak."

"So, we wait?"

"Yes. We rest, watch, and wait."


	25. Chapter 25

Harry blinked as he lay on the cold floor of the cellar. Before he had left, Ben had released Harry, dropping him rather painfully in a corner. He had not bound him with ropes, as had been the wish of many Death Eaters. Instead, he placed a barrier around Harry so that he only had enough space to turn over once.

The floor wasn't comfortable, but Harry was too exhausted to care. He could still feel the curse lingering within him, and he wished desperately that he still had his wand.

He had just begun to doze off when he heard the latch of the cellar door click. His eyes snapped open and he stared wearily in the direction of the entrance.

"What d'you want?" he asked in a barely audible voice as he saw who had come in.

"That's not very nice, Potter," Bailey said, sounding like his usual self as he strutted toward Harry.

"You're one to talk," Harry challenged, clearing his throat a little. It was dry and every time he spoke, it felt as if he had swallowed sandpaper, but he wouldn't show Bailey or any of the others that. He was determined to give them as little satisfaction as possible.

Bailey glared at him. "You think you're Mr. Talented and Awesome just because you have that stupid scar on your forehead? Anyone could have done it, you know. You didn't have to be the one. He could've chosen any child to mark as his 'vanquisher', and you would have just been an ordinary, stupid kid."

Harry could tell that Bailey was trying to push his buttons, but he wouldn't let him, no matter what.

"I would have enjoyed that, actually," he said calmly. "It's not exactly a day on the Quidditch pitch when someone says, 'You're Harry Potter, aren't you? Oh, I recognized that scar!'."

Bailey glared at him again, but said nothing. Clearly, he had expected to make Harry angry. It gave him a sort of grim satisfaction at seeing Bailey not look so full of himself.

"What did you come in here for, anyway? I don't think it was just to have a nice chat."

Bailey remained as angry-looking as he always did around Harry, but his expression took on a kind of gleam that made Harry want to run out of there as fast as he could.

"As a matter of fact, that's exactly what I came in here for."

"Really?" Harry was proud of his voice. It sounded bold and challenging, though he felt like he could pass out at any minute.

Bailey conjured a chair and sat a few yards from Harry, staring down at him with a look of forced cordiality.

"So, how are things with your little girlfriend?"

Harry glared at him. "I don't think that's any of your business."

Instead of glaring back at him as Harry had thought he would do, Bailey gave him an unfriendly smile. The expression was horribly familiar.

"Actually, Potter, it is."

"What are you talking about?" Harry demanded, his voice becoming slightly louder despite the sandpapery feeling in the back of his throat.

Bailey's grin got wider, and at that moment, Harry was glad he was restrained, for he had a sudden, strong urge to punch Bailey square in the face.

"Oh, come on, Potter."

Bailey stood from his chair and took a few steps toward where Harry lay.

"Didn't you ever wonder how the stupid Weasley girl had found out about your friend?" He knelt down beside Harry, bending so that he was speaking in Harry's ear. "There was no way she could have found out on her own, was there? You knew that. And I'm sure she told you that she had someone telling her about everything you were doing. I made her swear not to tell."

Harry's already befuddled mind was struggling to process it all. He immediately began to think back to the time when Ginny had told him about the Holyhead Harpies offer, how he had run into Hayley that first time at the diner, how he and Ginny had argued and he had arranged to meet up with Hayley again, how Ginny had called him not long afterward and claimed that someone was telling her about Hayley, how they had argued about it, how she had said that she wouldn't be with him if he kept seeing Hayley, how she had come over and Ginny had called ag... Slowly, all the pieces fell into place, and the past few months made so much more sense. Unable to do anything else, Harry glared furiously at Bailey.

"You're just lucky I don't have my wand," he growled. "Because I would have hexed you so badly that no one would recognize you!"

"I suppose I am," Bailey rejoined with a malicious grin. He prodded Harry hard in the ribs with his wand, making him stiffen reflexively.

As much as Harry wanted to argue with Bailey, to tell him off for the hell he had created, he found that he was simply too tired. Whenever he would think of something to say, the words would slip from his grasp and he could no longer remember them. He vaguely heard footsteps and the sound of the cellar door slamming as Bailey had finally left.

He knew Bailey hadn't been forced to do this to him. He knew Bailey got some sort of cruel enjoyment out of making his life hell for the past few months. All he had been ordered to do was capture Harry, and yet, he had chosen to make it more entertaining for himself. It was a game, Harry realized. It was all some sort of sick game to him. With a long, shaky exhale, Harry closed his eyes, and after a long while, he slipped into a deeply troubled sleep.

Aidan yawned, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he gazed intently at a large book on his desk. He and Christian had arrived at the Ministry not long before. To Aidan, it seemed to be one of those days when everything was fast-paced and frenzied: he had gotten up nearly twenty minutes late, spent another fifteen trying to get Christian to hurry, and as he was making his way to his cubicle, he noticed that there were several people moving about, their expressions tense and their gaits brisk and purposeful. He had seen Bailey emerge from the lift, and even he seemed to be on the move that day.

"Got to get down to the field," he'd said when Aidan had given him a questioning look.

After awhile, he sighed and pulled a few vials toward him. He was a bit behind on analyzing the trainees' potions, and he wanted to take that morning to get caught up.

A sudden whoosh from the hall made Aidan's head snap up. He placed the stopper on the vial of the potion he was examining before he got to his feet, snatching up his wand. He was making a move to investigate the noise, but he soon realized he wouldn't have to go far at all. About twenty owls streamed into his cubicle, all carrying letters.

"What the—"

Astonished, he immediately tried to untie as many letters as possible, but there were just too many of them for him to do it in an efficient amount of time, especially with the owls fluttering frantically around the room. Feeling slightly overwhelmed, he flourished his wand, causing the letters to untie themselves from the birds' legs and land neatly atop his desk.

The owls hooted loudly as they began to depart, leaving Aidan with the stacks of mail.

Shaking his head, he reached over and picked up a piece of parchment without an envelope. The only thing that was written on it was:

Harry Potter's missing. He didn't come to training this morning, and no one's seen him.


	26. Chapter 26

Aidan stared, open-mouthed, at the line of text. Harry Potter? Missing? Frowning, he pulled another letter toward him. After reading the fourth one, he realized that all of them were about Harry. More specifically, his sudden disappearance. The witches and wizards that lived around him had written to inform of the state they had seen his home in.

The _Daily _Prophet, however, seemed to be what made him feel exceptionally disconcerted. On the front page, there was a photograph of a group of uniformed Aurors, their expressions grim. Behind them stood a small house. Its door was hanging off the hinges, and Aidan could even see the jagged glass that had been the front window.

"Merlin... Who on Earth would do this?" he wondered aloud. Suddenly feeling anxious, Aidan flipped to the page that had the actual article. It did nothing to ease his nerves. All it said was that the house belonged to Harry Potter, and that it was empty when the Aurors had searched it.

Aidan could feel a tight knot forming in his stomach as he tossed the paper aside and got to his feet again. He sprinted out of his cubicle just as a memo whizzed by. As it sped passed, he could vaguely see his name on the outside. He stopped abruptly, nearly colliding with the wall in the process. He grabbed the memo out of thin air and unfolded it urgently.

Aidan,

Please meet me in my office as soon as you can. It's an emergency.

Kingsley

Aidan didn't need to be told twice. As the memo fluttered lazily around the hallway, he ran to the lift and jammed his finger against the button. As soon as the doors had slid open, he dashed out, nearly knocking into an older wizard.

"Sorry!" he called over his shoulder as he continued to run. By the time Aidan was knocking frantically on Kingsley's door, he was breathing hard.

"Come in, Aidan," came the Minister's deep voice. He didn't sound as calm and relaxed as he usually did, and as Aidan stepped into the office and closed the door behind him, he could see that this was indeed true. Kingsley was frowning as he gazed at a copy of the same _Daily _Prophet which Aidan had looked at a few moments ago. His eyes were fixed on the jagged remains of the front window.

"Who d'you think did it, Minister?" Aidan whispered. He was still so shocked from the news that he could get his voice no louder than the volume at which he spoke.

The Minister looked up. "If you're asking whether I strongly suspect a particular individual of doing this, my answer is no."

Aidan had guessed this would be the Minister's response. He couldn't stand still—he began to pace, his hands clenching and unclenching with nerves. Kingsley had opened his mouth to ask Aidan to sit, but he thought better of it and sighed instead. They both were thinking the same thing: even though they couldn't point fingers at someone in particular, they knew that it had to be one of Voldemort's followers who had managed to escape capture. Though most had either been imprisoned, surrendered, or murdered themselves in order to avoid Azkaban, there were, regretfully, a few who had evaded the Aurors.

"I want to look for him," Aidan said suddenly. He was still pacing by the door.

Kingsley met his gaze. It was a long while before he answered. "I'd really like you to remain with the trainees, Aidan," the Minister said gently. It would be—was

"Minister, please," Aidan pleaded, feeling a pang of guilt for cutting him off. "Please, I'd like to help search for him. In the past few months..." He trailed off; feeling stupid. Was he really going to bring his personal feelings into the situation?

"In the past few months, you have become close to Harry." It wasn't a question, but Aidan nodded anyway. "Yes, sir." He didn't mention that besides the fact that he liked Harry in general, there was something else. A raw, horrible guilt had suddenly slammed into him as if he had been drenched in ice water. It was enough to keep him rooted to the spot, but why? Why was he suddenly feeling so horribly guilty?

Misinterpreting Aidan's deep frown, Kingsley sighed. "Very well, Aidan. I'll send you out immediately." Relief washed over him, but it was abruptly extinguished by the Minister's next words. "But I'd like you to have a partner. I think... Bailey, perhaps?"

"No!" Aidan said before he could stop himself. "I, I apologize, Minister, but please, please... Why not someone else? Bailey wouldn't agree to go, I know he wouldn't. He loathes Harry; he wouldn't—"

"Whether he does or does not like Harry is not of importance, Aidan," Kingsley replied. Though he didn't sound angry, there was the slightest hint of authority in his tone. "Bailey will accompany you because of his rank. The others are trying to recover as much evidence as possible from Harry's residence, and I will place substitutes for you both as training instructors."

The subtle note of finality in his tone let Aidan know that there wasn't a point in arguing with Kingsley. Besides, he didn't want to keep disputing this when time was against them. If something had happened to Harry, they would need to find him as quickly as possible.

"All right, Minister," Aidan murmured, acquiescing. "When do we leave?"

"Now. I'd like you to go to the training fields and tell Bailey to accompany you. Your replacements will arrive shortly; tell the trainees to remain there until then."

Aidan nodded, fighting against the urge to sprint out of the office then and there. "I will send reinforcements when I can. In the meantime, keep me on constant alert."

"Yes, sir."

"Very well, you may go, Aidan."

"Thank you, sir." And without another word, the young Auror left. He streaked down the hall, through the lobby, and out the door around the building, and onto the expansive field.

He could hear their voices clearly even before he saw them; one belonged to Harry Potter's friend, Ron Weasley, and the other to Bailey Stewart.

"Don't play idiot with me!" Ron was growling furiously. "I know you had something to do with it!"

Bailey's laugh was hostile. Aidan slowed his pace, trying to keep his distance for a few seconds. Something was nagging at him, telling him that he had to let them keep talking. Trying to slow his breathing down, he hid behind a large, shady tree.

"Listen to yourself, Weasley. You're actually blaming _me for the fact that your stupid friend is wanted?"

"You know he bloody isn't!" Ron snarled. "The ones who don't like him won't dare try to harm him now, not when he's around all these Ministry people and You-Know-Who's gone."

"You really are dumb, aren't you?" Bailey muttered, his voice cold. The rest of Bailey's words were drowned out by Aidan's own thoughts. There was something funny going on, but he wasn't quite sure what. Something was up with Bailey, that much he knew. He couldn't recall ever hearing him sound so horribly cruel before. Sarcastic, maybe, but not cruel. Then again, things hadn't been right with his friend for months. He was jolted out of his thoughts by the sharp sound of Ron's voice.

"You'll pay for whatever you've done to him! I swear on my wand, you will!"

Aidan leapt out from behind the tree and ran the short distance that remained between him and Bailey. Bailey rounded on him, glowering.

"What do you want now? Going to reprimand me for telling Weasley off?"

Aidan suppressed a roll of his eyes. "No." Ignoring Ron's look of dismay, he continued evenly, as if his mind wasn't buzzing with anxious and confusing thoughts. "Minister Shacklebolt has ordered the two of us to go look for Harry."

Bailey and Ron both stared at him, but Bailey had regained his composure first. He snorted, shaking his head.

"Fine. When do we leave?" This behavior seemed to puzzle Aidan most of all. But why? Why was this so odd?

"Now," Aidan said, unable to keep his frustration from showing. Ron was still staring from Aidan to Bailey, shock being the most prominent emotion on his face. Clearly, he didn't want the person who seemed to hate his best friend the most be the one to search for him, and, in all actuality, Aidan couldn't blame him.

With a sigh, he turned to Bailey. "Kingsley is sending substitutes for us. Can you please go tell the other trainees to remain in the field?"

"Aye aye, Captain," Bailey muttered sarcastically, before he marched off, leaving Ron and Aidan alone.

"You aren't kidding, are you?" Ron asked the instant Bailey was out of earshot. "He's actually going with you to help look for Harry?"

Aidan sighed again, suddenly feeling weary. "Unfortunately, yes. The Minister thinks that he and I work well together."

"Does he not get that Bailey hates Harry, though?" The same feverish desperation that was in Aidan seemed to be reflected in Harry's friend, and Aidan felt horrible, because he knew Ron wanted nothing more than to help, too.

"Overlooked it," Aidan replied. "He said that Bailey will comply because it's his job."

Ron snorted. "I don't think he knows Bailey how we do." Just as Aidan was shaking his head, Bailey appeared.

Without looking at Ron, he said, "Done. Let's go."

Aidan nodded, rubbing his hands together nervously. Just as Ron turned to leave, Aidan mouthed silently to him, "I'll keep you posted. I swear."

Ron nodded almost imperceptibly, before he walked away, his expression blank except for his eyes, which were filled with fear and concern.

When Ron was gone, Bailey spoke. "So, where does he want us to start?"

"He didn't say exactly," Aidan replied.

"Fantastic," Bailey muttered.

"I have an idea, though," Aidan continued, ignoring Bailey's sarcasm. "We should go to his house first and find out all we can from the Aurors that are there. Based on what we learn, we can make a decision on where to go from there."

"Or," Bailey cut in, his tone terribly mocking. "We can skip the talking and investigating, and get right to the action."

Aidan stared at him, perplexed. "What?"

"Exactly what I said." Bailey rolled his eyes at Aidan's blank look. "Oh, just come on!"

He pulled Aidan along, his grip painfully tight on his arm.

"Bailey— Ah, crap! Ow, what're you—"

"Just shut up!" Bailey growled, continuing to drag him along. Aidan winced as he tried to loosen Bailey's hold, but he soon realized that it was pointless.

The familiar, rapid spinning that came with Apparition jarred Aidan. He felt Bailey let go of his hand. As he did, he landed hard on his hands and knees. With a grunt, he stared around, feeling slightly dizzy from the impact.

"Here's your answer."

Aidan blinked, feeling dazed. "Wh-where—" He staggered to his feet, trying to regain his balance. For the first time since he had arrived, he managed to take a good look at his surroundings.

Bailey stood a few feet from him, his hands at his sides.

"Bailey?" Aidan could barely hear his own voice as he took a few steps toward his partner.

Bailey was standing with his back to him, his eyes closed tightly in what appeared to be concentration. Aidan took a few more tentative steps toward him, but he didn't turn around. Suddenly feeling anxious, Aidan continued forward until he was right beside him.

"Bailey, what the hell—"

"Shut up!" he snarled, and Aidan took a reflexive step back. "What—"

"I told you to shut up!"

Aidan remained frozen, his eyes wide with shock. Why was Bailey acting like this? He kept watching Bailey, feeling his pulse quicken as the seconds passed. His lips were moving soundlessly, and he seemed to be gripping something. A tremor ran down the length of his frame as he yanked something from the pocket of his cloak.

Aidan finally managed to find his voice. "Bailey, please! We're wasting precious time! We need to find out where Harry is!"

He gasped as Bailey suddenly rounded on him and pressed the tip of his wand against Aidan's left cheek.

"You want to know where Harry Potter is?" he demanded. Bailey's face was now so close to Aidan's that he immediately felt claustrophobic. Acting on impulse, Aidan backed up a few steps, making to retrieve his own wand.

Bailey shoved Aidan forcefully, causing the young Auror to stumble. Though he didn't fall, it had provided Bailey with a chance to slip past his guard.

"_Expelliarmus!" Aidan's wand flew from his hand, and Bailey caught it easily.

Aidan stared at him, too stunned to speak.

"You're so stupid, Aidan," he sneered, tucking Aidan's wand into his cloak. "If you had really paid attention, you would have discovered that you wouldn't have to go far in order to save Potter."

Aidan's face had gone white, and it took him a long moment to regain his ability to speak.

"What did you do to him?" he roared, rage taking the place of his earlier state of shock.

Bailey chuckled darkly as he flicked his wand, causing Aidan to halt in his advance. His pupils began to dilate again as he tried, and failed, to break Bailey's spell.

"Will you cooperate, Aidan?" he asked, enunciating every syllable as he took a step toward the Auror. A frown crossed Aidan's flushed face, but he finally nodded. Even though he was still reeling from Bailey's sudden shift in demeanor, he would do anything if it meant finding out what had happened to Harry. He needed to know; he needed to find him.

"Fine," Aidan muttered, clasping his hands together in defeat. He knew when to fight and when to give in, and, despite his desire to challenge Bailey openly, he forced himself to refuse. For now, at least.

"Good," Bailey said, giving Aidan a smile that was not at all humorous.

But Aidan wouldn't be taken advantage of like this. He wouldn't put up with being toyed with by anyone.

"I want you to tell me where Harry is," Aidan said.

For a long moment, Bailey didn't answer. He studied Aidan critically, as if he was some sort of insect or foreign creature he would soon examine under a microscope.

"I've got a better idea," he said finally, giving Aidan a look that sent shivers down his spine. "Instead of just telling you where Potter is, I'll show you."


	27. Chapter 27

Aidan was about to question Bailey, to tell him off for being so foolish and wasting his time, but before he could do so, Bailey snatched his wrist and held it tightly. Aidan winced as Bailey's fingernails cut into his skin. He did his best to keep up with Bailey—he had taken off at a sudden sprint, which caused Aidan to stumble half of the time.

"Bailey, please— Shit!" Aidan felt his foot catch on a broken tree root. In his effort to stop himself from falling, he yanked on the arm which Bailey was gripping. Pain shot through him as he slammed face-first into the dirt. The sudden jerk of his arm had caused Bailey to lose his balance and fall, too. Aida ggrunted with pain as he felt Bailey's nails cut further into his skin.

"Fuck," he breathed as he jerked his arm hard, finally freeing it from Bailey's grasp. Blood was trickling down his arm from the small cuts in his wrist, and he was sure there was a nasty-looking cut on his face.

"What the hell was that for?" Bailey inquired angrily.

"Sorry," Aidan grunted, forcing himself painfully to his knees. A surge of dizziness overcame him, and he nearly collapsed back onto the ground—only his will to keep moving kept him upright. With an effort, he staggered to his feet, placing them at shoulder width to steady himself.

"Are you done fooling around?" Bailey demanded irritably. "You're costing yourself—and me—much time indeed."

Aidan wanted to protest that it had been Bailey's own fault, but he knew better than to bring up such childish arguments when there was so much at stake. Time was clearly not his friend today. "Fine, whatever. Just keep going, please."

"I wouldn't go ordering me around if I were you, Aidan. I am, after all, trying to help you out."

The look Bailey gave him made goosebumps appear on Aidan's arms, but he ignored them. He closed his eyes for a moment, exhaled slowly, then nodded, resigned to silence.

If Bailey really did know where Harry was, he was making it difficult for him to get there in a timely fashion. More than once, Aidan had nearly tripped over detritus which lay strewn about, and Bailey had caused him to injure his right wrist just as badly as his left.

Aidan was just beginning to wonder when they would stop—his wrists were stinging terribly, and blood had dried on the left side of his face—when Bailey halted abruptly, sending Aidan to his knees. He swore under his breath as he hauled himself back up. He rubbed his eyes, wincing as flecks of dirt caught on his eyelashes.

He was standing in front of a house that was slightly smaller than the traditional manor, but impressive nonetheless. The lawn looked like it had been meticulously kept, and an ornate gate stood a short distance away from the house's primary entrance.

Bailey dragged Aidan toward the gate, his wand pointing directly ahead of him. A ripple of fear swept through Aidan, and he planted his feet so that Bailey couldn't continue.

"What the hell are you doing?" Bailey demanded irritatedly.

Aidan stared at Bailey, his eyes wide. He blinked several times, trying to rid himself of the awful feeling that seemed to chill him to the bone. He had no idea why, but as Bailey dragged him along, the sense of foreboding became stronger. He fought to free his wrist, but Bailey's grip was too strong. He suddenly stopped, turned around, and glared at Aidan.

"You want to play it like that? Fine."

Ropes materialized out of thin air and bound themselves around Aidan's wrists and ankles. Aidan made an attempt to roll away from Bailey, using his knees and elbows to propel himself, but he didn't get very far before he was dragged by an unseen force toward the gate.

"Bailey, what the hell are you doing?"

"Exactly what I should have done a long time ago." Bailey's voice was low and menacing, and Aidan's trepidation increased further. Still, he wasn't about to show that to Bailey. He did, however, display his confusion.

"I, I thought we were friends," he stammered, immediately feeling foolish for voicing the thought aloud.

Bailey snorted, giving him a wry smile. "Friends, Aidan, are for the weak."

Aidan stared at him, nonplused. How could Bailey say things like that? He tried to convince himself that this wasn't his friend, that this wasn't the Bailey he had known for so long.

"What happened to you?" Aidan heard himself ask, his voice quivering.

"What _happened to me?"

Aidan gasped as the invisible force suddenly released him. He tried to turn so that he would land on his back, but his body would not obey him. He grimaced as he landed hard on his side, his ankles knocking painfully together.

"They threatened me after we got the new trainees, because they knew that a certain someone would be among them." As he spoke, he raised his wand again, and Aidan was dragged along behind him. "I tried to deny it, to tell them that I had no part in it, but they'd seen us working with them. They know that I was working with the new kids, so they threatened me again. I'm not an idiot, Aidan. I told them that Potter was in the group, and they gave me orders to lure him in. But they said I took too long, so they kidnapped Jack and held him hostage. The only way I could free him was if I handed Harry Potter over to them."

Aidan couldn't believe what he was hearing. He knew that the 'they' Bailey was referring to were Death Eaters. Although he had so many questions, he hadn't bothered to interrupt Bailey, for he feared that if he did, he would keep Bailey from revealing the truth.

"He's in the house, then, isn't he?" Aidan asked quietly.

Bailey stopped walking, and Aidan cringed reflexively. He watched as Bailey stalked toward him, his face set into a hard mask.

"What do _you think?"

Something stirred within Aidan. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but he no longer felt stunned and overwhelmed. He met Bailey's gaze steadily, and when he spoke, he sounded angry. "What do _I think? You're fucking sick, that's what I think! Using someone merely for your own benefit, just to get you out of a situation!"

Bailey's eyes hardened as his entire expression lit with fury.

"You wanna fucking say that again?" he roared, kicking Aidan hard in the ribs. "You really think I'm sick? You have no idea what I'm like, you stupid, naive little shit!"

He kicked Aidan again, making him roll onto his stomach. He winced and grimaced painfully, but he was intent on remaining silent.

"I'll show you just how sick I can be."

The look in Bailey's eyes sparked a thrill of fear in Aidan. As Bailey leaned over him, he caught a glimpse of something deep within his expression. Without warning, Bailey pressed the tip of his wand against Aidan's forehead.

Images suddenly flashed through Aidan's mind: he was walking through Hogsmeade village, he was Disapparating, a small, derelict house, the sliding door, the house's kitchen, its living room, the basement staircase, the conversation he had overheard between Bailey and the Death Eaters, the sound of footsteps and his own breathing as he sprinted out of the house, the dense thicket where he had tripped, Bailey slashing him with his wand, his body collapsing as blood gushed from the wounds...

It had all come back to him. Christian's words reverberated in his ears. "You could have died! ... I would think that after nearly being slashed to death..."

When the images finally stopped, he found his head was spinning, and his stomach had started to churn. After a moment, he realized he was trembling. He opened his eyes and stared into the face of the person he had believed to be his best friend.

It was as if he was looking at him for the first time, really looking at him. His eyes possessed a distant hardness which made him appear almost insane, and he realized with horror that Bailey just might be.

"There's more, you know," Bailey whispered in Aidan's ear. "There's loads more. And I think there's something you should see."

The smile on Bailey's face made Aidan's stomach turn.

"I don't want to see anymore," he breathed, his eyes wide.

"Oh, but I'm pretty sure this will be of interest to you."

And, before Aidan knew what was going on, Bailey was sprinting toward the house. Aidan couldn't help the instinctive urge to struggle against the ropes whenever he was dragged along the ground by the unseen force. He tried to free his ankles, but the more he struggled against the ropes, the tighter they became.

As they approached the house, Aidan began to feel more and more anxious, but he forced himself to restrain it. This was no time for him to worry about his own feelings. He couldn't let himself be distracted by Bailey anymore; he had to find Harry. He forced himself to close his eyes as the house drew closer and closer. He hated the feeling of vulnerability that came with being wandless. After all, that was a wizard's most useful tool.

He heard the gate close with a clank behind him, though de didn't dare open his eyes. Only when he no longer felt himself move did he allow his eyelids to open a crack. He winced slightly in shock; he was only a few feet from the house's entrance. Bailey was standing at the door, his wand tapping the doorknob in rapid, intricate patterns.

Aidan's curiosity was quelled immediately as he began moving again. The door swung inward with an ominous creak, and Aidan's Auror instincts kicked in.

The house was just as expansive on the inside as it looked on the exterior. Portraits were hanging on the walls, going as far along the hall as Aidan could see, but there was hardly any furniture except for a small table. A chandelier swayed slightly from the ceiling; only two of its branches actually occupied by candles. The house grew dustier the further they went, and Aidan got the impression that it had only been superficially cleaned. The lack of furnishings also struck him as odd. Even as his Auror instincts kept him alert and watchful, he couldn't help but feel that the house gave him the creeps.

Aidan tried again to free his wrists and ankles, but all he got was a stinging cut as the rope cut into him. Up a staircase he floated, then down a long corridor, threw a small area which held a washer and dryer (he wondered why they were there in the first place), down another corridor, up another staircase, and down a much longer hall than any of the others. Aidan had just begun to wonder when they would stop when he lurched to a halt, the sudden stop making him inhale with surprise.

Bailey threw open a door, and Aidan began to move again. He found himself in a high-ceiling room with no furnishings, and drapes that were tightly shut to keep any light from coming in. At first, he thought they were alone, until he heard a menacing laugh and saw, as he stepped out of a dark corner, a man with wild hair and menacing, black eyes.


	28. Chapter 28

Aidan's stomach gave a horrible lurch. He had seen that face too many times to count. He saw it every time he entered his cubicle or any other Auror's. This was Ben Crowley, one of the Death Eaters who had fled after the Battle of Hogwarts, and whose picture was up in every cubicle in the Auror Headquarters.

"Good work, Stewart," Ben said, smirking down at Aidan's bound body. "You've impressed me. You actually managed to bring an Auror, and so soon, too." He was smiling broadly, much like a kid in a candy store would.

Bailey was standing with his back pressed against the wall furthest from Aidan, his hands clasped together. He reminded Aidan of a child who was desperate not to screw up an order from his parents.

"Perhaps I've misjudged your worth, boy," Ben was saying. "Connor had been right to suggest that you carry out this operation for us. I had my doubts at first, but you seemed to have redeemed yourself quite well indeed."

Bailey hung onto Ben's every word, drinking in the praise. "Thank you, Ben. I knew I'd find a way to prove myself to you."

Aidan knew that praise was Bailey's Achilles heel—he would do anything to get it, even if it meant doing something wrong in the process.

"What do we do with the boy?" another Death Eater asked, pointing vigorously at Aidan. "Do we kill 'im?"

Ben's cruel gaze swept from Aidan to the wand in Bailey's hand. He repeated this until a peculiar expression came over his features, transforming them from cold and blank to joyous. He knelt beside Aidan. He could feel the ends of Ben's hair brush his arm, making him cringe.

"Oh, my!" he murmured, a radiant smile crossing his face. "Well, well, well! Look who our very special guest is!" He leaned over so that his hair fell forward, brushing Aidan's cheek. "One of the Howard boys. More precisely, the youngest. Aidan, isn't it?"

He swallowed back the fear that had begun to course through him. "Yes."

Ben looked as if he wanted to jump for joy. "Oh, how much better can this day get?" He clapped his hands together, a jubilant laugh escaping him.

Around them, Death Eaters suddenly materialized, many faces instantly familiar to Aidan. They were all staring down at him with triumphant smirks on their faces, which gave Aidan a feeling he didn't like.

"Oh, my friends, what a fabulous treat this is! It appears that our work has just been made easier, oh yes!"

A dirty fingernail scraped across Aidan's cheek. He felt the agony of the rope cut into his wrists as he had tried to lash out. The crowd of Death Eaters laughed heartily, clapping their hands together. Anger began to take the place of the fear in Aidan, and he glared at Ben. "I don't think you should be so confident. Whatever your intentions are, don't think I will submit so easily."

This made Ben laugh loudly. "Oh? And what makes you so sure?"

"Because I have a job to do," Aidan said simply. "And I won't stop until I've done what I was sent by the Minister to do."

Ben leered at him, his eyes sparkling with malevolence.

"You seem so confident in yourself, Aidan. I believe you have forgotten that the one who has brought you here is none other than your best friend."

He forcefully turned Aidan's face so that he could look nowhere else but at Bailey. He stared back at Aidan, his eyes blank and distant.

"You're foolish, Aidan Howard!" Ben roared, pulling Aidan up by his bound arms, which caused the ropes to cut deeper into his skin. "You have allowed yourself to be mislead! The person who you thought was your best friend was nothing of that sort, and you allowed him to take advantage of you!"

Aidan shuddered, his lips pressed tightly together. Ben forced the rope deeper. Blood had seeped through Aidan's sleeve and was streaming down onto his clothes. Unperturbed, Ben continued speaking.

"Think about it, Aidan. Would your best friend put you in danger like this? Would your best friend torture you like he did? Would your best friend"—he was staring directly at Bailey now—"kill your family?"

Ben's last words had cut right through Aidan's resolve. He stared at Bailey, his eyes widening.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked, rounding on Ben now. "Bailey couldn't have killed my parents!"

"And why not?" Ben challenged.

"He always came with me when I went to their grave. He always talked about how great they were."

But as soon as the words had come out of Aidan's mouth, he realized that it had been the most absurd thing he could have said. The gathered crowd erupted in laughter, and Ben nearly fell over, his entire body shaking with mirth. The only one who wasn't laughing, Aidan noticed, was Bailey. He was staring at his wand, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead.

"What if I told you I had proof, Aidan?" Ben asked after he had recovered.

"And what kind of proof would that be?"

Aidan didn't trust him, and Ben knew it. He sighed deeply, rubbing his hands together. "You don't have to trust me, Aidan Howard," he said quietly. "But you do have to trust the person who I will use to show you."

"What—"

Everything happened so fast that Aidan had only managed to gasp. Ben had risen to his feet and grabbed Bailey by the collar, bringing him to the floor. Bailey fought against him, striking him wherever his hands and feet could reach. He had even tried to curse him, but the Death Eater had swatted the wand from his hand. Ben shoved Bailey to the ground, pinning him with a spell.

The next thing Aidan knew, a strange sensation had begun to envelope him. He felt as if he had plunged into a dark whirlpool. He tried to fight it, to break free from it, but its hold on him was much too strong. When he stopped resisting, he felt himself plunging deeper and deeper into darkness...

The sun shone its last rays over a sleepy town in Kent. It was about that time when everyone was settling down after a long day at work to hopefully catch their favorite programs on television. Only a few people were out at that time, one of those being a boy of about nine years old. He was tall for his age, with neatly trimmed blonde hair and piercing, blue eyes.

He was running at a steady pace, his destination already in sight. The house which lay before him was expansive and well-kept, a universal sign of status and cleanliness. He jogged up to the house and knocked rapidly on the door; he was tapping the handle of his broomstick anxiously, as if he was waiting for something.

The door opened after a moment, and the boy found himself looking up at a woman with waist-length blonde hair, flawless skin, full lips, and a smile that seemed to light up her entire face. Her proper name was Katrina Nadine Howard, but he knew her better as his best friend's mother.

"Hello, Bailey," she said, giving the nine-year-old one of her warm smiles. "Have you come for Aidan?"

"Yes," he said rather quickly, his fingers still drumming anxiously on his broomstick.

Katrina didn't seem to notice Bailey's anxiety. She gave him another smile as she turned toward the interior of the house. "Aidan! Come down, please! Bailey's here!" She turned back to Bailey, and, seeing the beads of sweat on his face, she frowned. "My dear, would you like some water, or perhaps some pumpkin juice? It's unusually warm today, bizarre for early October."

Bailey laughed nervously and shook his head. "No, thank you, Mrs. Howard. I just, I just wanted to see if Aidan wanted to play some one-on-one Quidditch."

The sound of footsteps on the stairs could be heard then, and a moment later, nine-year-old Aidan appeared, grinning broadly.

"Hey, Bailey! I was hoping your mum would let you come over today!"

Bailey gave his friend a slight smile, though his heart was racing. "Yeah, she finally decided that keeping me inside wouldn't do her sanity much good." He cleared his throat slightly.

"You okay?" Aidan asked, frowning.

"Oh, yeah. I think I'm just coming down with a bit of a cold." Bailey shrugged, and Aidan nodded in acceptance. "So, want to play some one-on-one? Bet you won't win this time."

Aidan grinned broadly again. "You kidding? Wait till you see what Dad got! That's why I couldn't wait for you to come over, I wanted you to try it with me!"

Katrina smiled affectionately as her youngest son bounded back inside the house. She had always hoped that her sons would get along, but because Aidan was eleven years younger than Christian was, their relationship had only strengthened just recently. Christian, being twenty, preferred the night life to most other things, and though he was currently an Auror-in-training, he wasn't as much of an academic as his father or Aidan, who was showing promise in his primary school classes.

Aidan was glowing with delight as he reappeared, holding up a shiny broomstick. Out of the corner of her eye, Katrina watched Bailey's expression change. He gave Aidan a radiant smile, though for a second, there seemed to be a hard, angry glint in his eyes. But when Katrina blinked, the anger was gone, replaced by the delight that mirrored her son's.

"No. Way."

"Yeah, I know! Dad got it yesterday, I haven't even flown it, 'cause I was waiting for you."

Forgetting about his mother, Aidan stepped onto the porch and followed Bailey down to the lawn.

"Be careful, Aidan," Katrina called. "You haven't flown that one yet, remember. It's different from your other one."

"I know, Mum," Aidan replied over his shoulder. "I promise I'll be careful."

She had just turned to go back inside when she remembered something. "Oh, and Aidan? Make sure you mind the plants! And heed the firewood, we don't need any accidents!"

"I will, Mum! Don't worry!"

Katrina watched her son talk animatedly to his friend, before she turned and headed back inside, the door closing behind her.

"Didn't that cost a fortune?" Bailey asked incredulously as the boys stood gazing admiringly at the new broom.

"Oh, I'm sure it did," Aidan said with a frown. "I told Dad that he shouldn't have bought it, that we could have used that money for other things."

Bailey said nothing for a long while, his gaze shifting from Aidan's broom to his own.

"Are we going to play?" Aidan asked.

Bailey blinked; he had clearly forgotten about that. "What? Oh, yeah, sure."

Aidan's mouth turned down in a frown. "Bailey, are you sure you're all right? You seem kind of, I dunno, odd."

"I'm fine," he said, shrugging and trying to seem nonchalant.

Aidan was still frowning as he went to get the trunk containing the balls. Bailey trudged after him, and in no less than ten minutes, they were cartwheeling and zooming through the air, scoring pretend goals and narrowly avoiding a Bludger as it zoomed toward them.

"Try and block this one!" Aidan hollered. "Chris taught me this." Aidan tossed the Quaffle with a graceful, effortless movement. The ball soared up, up, over the fence, and off into the trees.

"Crap," Aidan muttered. "That was our only Quaffle. I'm gonna go get it, wait here!" And he was speeding toward the trees in search of the ball.


	29. Chapter 29

Bailey watched Aidan zoom off, and once he was sure that he wouldn't turn back around, he took his chance. He shifted into a slow descent, his eyes cast downward. When he touched ground, he tucked his broomstick under his arm and dashed toward the pile of firewood at the side of the house.

His heart was hammering against his ribs as he hauled a particularly large log out of the pile. He mounted his broomstick and glanced back anxiously. Aidan still wasn't anywhere to be seen. Breathing a sigh of relief, Bailey lifted the log onto his lap. The extra weight made his broomstick tip forward, and he was barely able to steady it. He had no time to dawdle if he was going to do this right.

By the time he had reached the window of Aidan's bedroom, he was trembling and drenched in sweat. He tested the window—Aidan hardly ever locked it. Sure enough, it opened easily. Looking grim, he pushed the log through it so that most of it lay atop Aidan's bed.

Glancing back to make sure there was no one watching, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a matchbook. He stood beside the bed, staring down at his trembling hands. He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this, he just couldn't. His father's words echoed in his mind: You can never do anything right... If you want our respect, do this simple task...

Anger flooded him as he gazed around the room. Why did Aidan have to be so lucky? Why did Aidan have to have such amazing parents, and he got stuck with rotten ones? Why did Aidan always get cool stuff, and why did everyone like him more? Thinking of Aidan on his new broomstick made his anger and resentment reach a boiling point, and he found his hands trembling as he struck one of the matches and tossed it onto the log on Aidaan's bed.

He clambered out of the window and wrenched it shut with one hand, balancing precariously on his broomstick. He flung the book of matches, which caught in the top branches of an oak tree. Tears stung his eyes as he dove to the ground, picking up the Beater's bat he had used to keep away the Bludger.

He looked up just in time to see Aidan speeding toward him, holding up the Quaffle and grinning. "I've got it, Bailey! It was kind of hard, because it got caught in all these branches, but I managed to— what're you doing?"

Bailey was now about two feet from Aidan now, his bat raised. He stared at Aidan, his eyes burning with tears. "I'm sorry," he whispered, and with one swing of his bat, he cracked Aidan on the side of his head. Aidan's eyes went wide, before he lost consciousness and dropped limply to the ground.

The bat slipped from Bailey's grasp as he stared down at his friend. What had he done? Had he killed him? No, no, he couldn't have, he just couldn't have. His father had said it wouldn't kill Aidan, it would only knock him out. It had to be true, he couldn't have killed him.

He heard the unmistakable sound of glass shattering, and he realized with a start that he had spent too much time there already. He slid to the ground and shoved his broomstick under his arm again. His eyes stung with tears as he half-stumbled, half-ran toward the trees.

As he kept running, he caught the scent of something burning, and he suddenly felt like he wanted to be sick. He forced himself to block out his emotions as he sprinted through the bushes by the road. The bitter fragrance of smoke reached him even as he approached his house. He had barely reached the front door before it was flung open and his father appeared.

"Have you done it?" he demanded in a gruff voice.

"Y-yes," Bailey stammered breathlessly as he tried to catch his breath.

"Don't stutter, boy!" his father barked. "If you have done it exactly as I instructed you to, there should be no reason for you to be so afraid."

"But, but Dad?" Bailey asked softly.

"What is it?"

Bailey stared off into the distance, his expression vacant. "N-nothing."

"What did I tell you about stuttering?" his father demanded harshly. "Never you mind, just move out of my way!" Carter Stewart shoved violently past his son, his eyes twinkling with a sort of excitement that nauseated Bailey.

"What's going on?" his mother, Dana, said as she appeared. Her eyes were a hard, coal black, and she always looked as if she had stepped on something foul.

"It is done, my darling," Carter spoke to his wife, taking both of her hands in his. "Bailey has finally done something correctly."

They both looked like they wanted to celebrate.

"We have finally done it," Dana was saying as she wriggled with elation. "The Auror and Obliviator will soon be no more! You!"—she looked to Bailey—"make sure you go and watch! Tell us what has happened!"

As they went inside, laughing and hugging each other, Bailey forced himself to move. He ran across the lawn and back into the bushes. As he retraced his steps back to Aidan's house, the bitter smell of smoke came to him, stronger than ever. The night felt much warmer now, and as he neared the house, he could see figures on the lawn.

As he advanced further, he got a true understanding of what his actions had caused. Aurors had gathered around the house and were trying desperately to contain the fire, while others were cautiously entering and exiting the house. Bailey sat down in the foliage and watched, his eyes burning again.

"Find them?" he heard one Auror call as two more emerged, their faces covered in dust and ash. They looked solemn.

"They're dead, William," one of them said. "They're being brought out now."

William frowned deeply as he clasped his hands together. "Merlin... Has, has the boy been found yet?"

The Aurors shook their heads. "We've looked everywhere, but there's no sign of him. We found Katrina and Caleb on the staircase, I think they were heading up there to find him, too."

"We do think we know where it started, though," the second Auror spoke up. "When we searched the boy's room, we found the striker of a matchbook on the dresser and the remnants of a log on the bed."

Bailey gasped, reflexively clapping a hand over his mouth.

"What're you saying?" William asked. "You think he started it?"

"We can't say for sure, but the striker _was in his room."

"Aidan wouldn't do anything like that, though," he protested. "I've known both boys since they were born."

The second Auror was glowering. "Aidan wouldn't. You don't know him the way we do."

"Cameron, I didn't say it was his fault!" the Auror protested. "I just said that that's what it looked like!"

"All right, you two. We're not going to get Aidan found just by quarreling like young boys."

The two men nodded, and without another word they were off, sprinting toward the back of the house.

From his hideout in the bushes, Bailey saw someone running up the road toward the house. It was Christian. His eyes were wide with horror as he stared at his parents' home. As a group of Aurors marched out of the burning building, his worst fears were confirmed. Two pairs of Aurors were supporting stretchers, which bore the lifeless bodies of his parents.

Christian collapsed to the ground, his agonized screams cutting through Bailey like daggers. As the stretchers were carried away, two young Aurors approached Christian.

"Chris, we're, we're so sorry..."

"Where's Aidan?" Christian choked out, forcing himself to his knees.

"Chris, please, just relax! This isn't—"

"You can't tell me to fucking relax when my parents are dead because of a fucking fire, and now they can't find my brother!" Christian shouted, causing his friends to take a few steps back. "He's only a kid! If our parents were killed, there's no telling what happened to him!"

He didn't have to explain himself further, they all knew what he meant. You-Know-Who was at large, and because their parents were such influential people at the Ministry—his mother, Katrina had been an Obliviator for the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, and their father, Caleb had been an Auror—he could have killed them simply for his own amusement.

"I'm going to help find him," Christian announced, and before his friends could say a word, he darted away.

Aidan had been found about five minutes later, lying unconscious beside the pile of firewood. Christian had been the one to find him, and he refused to let the Aurors take him from his arms, eventually forcing them to transport them both to St. Mungo's. When Aidan had awakened, he was extremely disoriented and confused.

"What, what happened?" Seeing the look on Christian's face, Aidan frowned. "Chris? What, what happened?"

Christian couldn't bring himself to say anything. The Healer glanced at them, before she tactfully left to give them a moment alone. Christian reached over and took Aidan's hands in his.

"Little bro... Mum and Dad, they're, they're..." Tears spilled from his eyes, and Aidan didn't need to have the sentence finished.

"What?! No! H-how?"

"A, a fire," Christian said weakly.

Aidan burst into tears then, clinging tightly to his older brother. He couldn't believe that his parents had been killed, that he would never see them anymore, that he would never get to hug his mother, to smell her sweet perfume, to hear her musical laugh, to hear her sing when she was in a good mood, to feel her warmth when she hugged him. He wouldn't be able to play Quidditch with his father, or admire the newest broomstick with him, or sneak off to Honeydukes whenever his mother said he couldn't have anymore candy, or play practical jokes on each other...

Aidan clung tightly to Christian as his body was racked with hysterical sobs, and the two brothers remained there, holding each other and mourning their loss.

Aidan couldn't escape the horrible feelings within him. Grief and pain and anger and guilt, they all crashed onto him like a boulder. He had no idea what to do, how to feel. He eventually slipped out of unconsciousness, but his dreams were horribly vivid. His new broomstick, the sound of his mother's laughter, the sight of his father's face, and a burning. A terrible burning that ran through his veins as if his blood was on fire.

"No! No, please!" he screamed, trying to get to his feet. "No, no, no!"

He cried out in agony as the fire inside him continued, and he saw the image of his own house collapsing before him.

"Now, you die," a voice whispered in his ear.

"No, no, NO! I'm sorry, Mum and Dad! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Aidan could barely breathe now. It was as if someone had poured soot down his throat and had lit him on fire. A horrible shadow loomed above him, but he couldn't see the person's face.

"Now you understand," the voice was saying. "Now you know!"


	30. Chapter 30

Aidan's eyes snapped open, and he stared blankly up at the ceiling. Tears were streaming down his face, only now, he was not his younger self. He was twenty-six years old again. Rage was boiling inside him, and he forced himself to sit up, ignoring the agony that ran through his legs as the rope cut into his ankles. His gaze shifted to the corner where Bailey was huddled. His hands were over his face, and he was trembling violently.

"YOU FUCKING TRAITOR!" he screamed, throwing himself at Bailey with every ounce of strength he had.

Aidan landed hard just inches from him, and Bailey shoved him away. It wasn't until then that Aidan realized they were alone.

"I had to, Aidan!" Bailey cried desperately, glaring at him. "I had to prove to my father that I wasn't entirely hopeless!"

"And you had to kill my parents to prove that?" he demanded, tears continuing to fall from Aidan's eyes. "I can't believe you! After they did so much for you, after my mother treated you like her own damn son!"

"You don't fucking understand, do you?" Bailey shouted, tears coming to his own eyes. "You had _everything, Aidan! _EVERYTHING! Your parents loved you, your father gave you anything you wanted! Everyone thought you were the smarter one! At Hogwarts, you had tons more friends! You got picked to be a Prefect, you were Head Boy, you were a Ravenclaw Chaser!" He pounded the floor with his fists, flecks of blood appearing where he had struck. "And what did I get? I lived in your fucking shadow, Aidan. I only got good marks when you'd help me, and when I made in into Auror training, everyone said they knew you must have helped me! And now you get to tell me off whenever you want? Fuck that!"

He was breathing hard now, and his face was clammy. As Aidan made himself look into his friend's eyes, he realized how mad Bailey truly was.

"I'm tired of being compared to you! I'm tired of always living with the burden that _I ruined _your childhood! I'm tired of the stupid looks your brother gives me all the time! He doesn't know what I had to live with!"

"I don't give a fuck what you had to live with!" came an angry voice from the doorway.

Bailey and Aidan both gasped and glanced over toward the door. Christian was standing there, his wand raised, a look of pure dislike on his face.

"You told him?" he demanded, striding over to Bailey and pinning him against the wall by his shoulder. "You _fucking told him?"

"They made me!" Bailey shouted, squirming out of Christian's hold. "And don't touch me!"

Christian muttered something, and Bailey was sent flying across the room.

"Come on, Aidan," Christian said, snapping Aidan's ropes with a wave of his wand. "We're getting out of here!"

"No," Aidan said breathlessly as he tried, and failed, to stand. "Go get Harry first."

"Aidan—"

"Please, Chris! I can take care of myself. Just please, _please go find him!"

"Where—"

"I don't know, but I'm guessing they may have him downstairs somewhere. The cellar, maybe."

Christian stared at his brother, trying to comprehend why Aidan was refusing to go with him. "Aidan, just come with me!"

"Chris, _please! I don't think we have much time to sit here and argue!"

"Fine. Just please, please be careful—"

"We'll get Harry," another voice said from the doorway. Aidan looked up to see Neville and Ron. They looked a little shaken but determined nonetheless.

"What are they—"

"Followed me," Christian said somewhat impatiently.

Aidan shook his head. "Go with them," he said at once. "The place is crawling with Death Eaters, and you're outnumbered as it is. Up here, it's just me and Bailey."

This didn't comfort Christian at all, and Aidan had to shove him in the direction of the door. "Chris, _please!"

"All right, but you have to let me know whenever you're in trouble."

Aidan hung his head. "I don't have my wand," he muttered.

Christian frowned. "You're smart. Think of a way."

And without another word, Christian left, pursued by Ron and Neville. Aidan leaned against the wall, trying to steady his breathing. His legs were shaking terribly. He had just been about to take a step forward when something slammed into his side, knocking him to the ground.

"As I said earlier. Fucking. stupid." Bailey was leaning over Aidan, his wand raised. "You learned how your parents died, and yet you still chose to stay here. What happened to hating me?"

Aidan blinked, stunned. "Bailey—"

Pain exploded within Aidan's chest, and he instinctively wrapped his arms around himself. He tried to get to his feet, but he was only able to get to his knees before the pain intesified, and he felt something seeping through his clothes. As Aidan withdrew his hands, he realized that they were stained with blood. Bailey was standing nearby, his wand pointed straight at him.

"You're not leaving, Aidan," he said quietly. His breath was coming in short pants, and he was staring at Aidan hungrily, as an eagle would its prey. "I will no longer live in your shadow. I will no longer have to live with the fact that I didn't finish what I had been sent to do when I was nine. I will no longer have to put up with you telling me what to do."

"I'm not nine anymore, Bailey," Aidan said, glaring at him. He tried again to get up, but Bailey kept him in place.

"I know that, Aidan. Like me, you're older. But guess what?" He waved his wand again, and the skin on Aidan's chest split further, making him wince. "_I'm the one with a wand."

Aidan tried to roll away from him, but Bailey stepped over him, blocking his path. Aidan felt the skin on his back and face split, too, and his vision began to go in and out of focus. Again, he tried to escape the torture, but when he was a few feet away, he slammed into an invisible barrier, causing more blood to flow from the wounds on his torso.

"This... isn't fair," Aidan said in a barely audible voice.

Bailey laughed softly as he stared down at Aidan, a look of triumph in his eyes at seeing his friend lying at his feet in his own lifeblood. "This isn't fair, is it? You didn't seem to mind when you were a Chaser on the Ravenclaw team, or a Prefect, or Head Boy, or near the top of our class, or when you were a kid and got everything you wanted."

"I, I—was

But Bailey didn't give him a chance to finish; Aidan winced and inhaled sharply as blood continued to spill copiously from his wounds. He continued his attempts to escape, which resulted in more pain and blood.

His vision was now so bad that he could barely make out his own hand, and his escape attempts were becoming feeble.

Bailey smiled vindictively as he tossed Aidan's wand into the far corner of the room. He had just been about to curse Aidan again when he heard something whoosh past him. He turned in time to see Ron and Neville aiming their wands at him.

"What are you—"

A flash of light sped toward Bailey, and he narrowly avoided being hit squarely in the chest.

"You're sick!" Ron growled, rushing at Bailey. "First you plan to kill Harry, and now you're trying to kill your best friend?"

"Stay out of this!" Bailey growled, shoving Ron back. "You don't know anything about what's happened between me and Aidan."

"I don't have to," Ron retorted, shoving Bailey toward the wall. "If he's your best friend, you should be there for him no matter what, because that's what best friends do! They look out for each other! They celebrate each other's successes, and encourage them, even when they get something you wanted! I should know."

Ron had been able to snatch the wand from Bailey's hand, but he had been too late. Bailey slashed it through the air, causing Aidan's already weak body to writhe in agony. Neville raced into the room and tried to help Ron trap Bailey, but he had dodged through them effortlessly while still keeping the Cruciatus Curse on Aidan.

"We have to get Christian!" Neville said to Ron.

Ron nodded, looking worried. "Go! I'll handle things here!"

Neville ran off, leaving Ron with Bailey and a barely conscious Aidan. Ron continued to fight Bailey off, to try and stop him from hurting Aidan, but his efforts were futile. _Come on, _Neville, he thought fearfully.

Aidan was lying in a large puddle of blood, his eyes closed. The curse was the only thing that kept him moving—his body twitched and writhed, using the last of his strength. The grunts and scuffling of feet that had been audible earlier were disappearing rapidly, and he was sure he would soon die, just as Bailey wanted.

Ron turned as he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He breathed a mental sigh of relief as he kicked Bailey hard in the shins, distracting him. Taking his chance, Ron gripped his wand tightly and yelled, "_Petrificus _totallus!"

Bailey stared wide-eyed at Ron as he stiffened, then crashed to the floor. Ron snatched Bailey's wand from his hand and flung it across the room. Christian burst in, followed by Neville. He stopped dead when he saw Aidan, slashed and bloody.

"Shit!"

He knelt beside his younger brother and turned him over, grimacing at the horrific sight. Neville and Ron cringed.

"That looks so awful," Neville whispered.

"No kidding," Ron said, looking grim.

Looking anxious, Christian conjured up a sheet and wrapped it carefully around Aidan. He wanted to close the wounds, but he knew he had very little time. A weak groan came from Aidan as Christian lifted him into his arms.

"Shh, it's okay, little bro," he murmured breathlessly as he hauled himself to his feet, staggering slightly under his brother's weight. "I'm going to take you to St. Mungo's. Just stay awake, okay?"

Aidan coughed violently; the force caused his wounds to stain the sheet crimson.

"Chris... I, I d-don't..." He coughed again, blood dripping from a cut by his mouth.

"Aidan, shh, it's okay. You'll be okay. Just stay awake, that's all I want."

Neville and Ron shuffled after Christian, their heads lowered. Without stopping, he looked back at them and said in a low, contrembling voice, "Go back to the others and tell them I've found Aidan. Make sure Harry's all right."

They nodded and left without protest. Christian held Aidan close to him, trying to suppress his own anxiety. Every few moments, Aidan would cough, causing more blood to stain the sheet.

"Chris," Aidan whispered, his voice barely audible despite how close he was to Christian.

"Yeah?"

"I, I don't think I can... make it."

"No, Aidan! Don't say stuff like that!" Christian's voice was quivering, but he didn't care.

The moment he stepped out of the house, he was swarmed by Aurors. Several of them tried to pry the brother's apart, but Christian wouldn't let them. There were already several Healers on the scene, so it wasn't long before two of them were tending to Aidan, gently unwrapping the sheet and removing his bloody clothes. Christian remained by his side, murmuring comforting words to him as the Healers worked as fast as humanly possible, closing the lacerations. Two more Healers joined the original pair at this point, their expressions set in grim lines.

The four of them worked as fast as they could; Aidan had already lost so much blood, and he was quickly slipping out of consciousness despite Christian's efforts to keep him awake.

"He's going to need more treatment if he's going to make it," one Healer murmured to another.

"But how is he supposed to get it?" another Healer asked. "We can't Apparate with him so injured. That could surely kill him!"

The first Healer sighed. "I'll go back for a Blood Renewing Potion."

Just as she'd said that, however, Aidan was overcome by a violent fit of coughing which caused his body to convulse. Figuring that it was better to try than not at all, the Healer Disapparated, leaving the other three with the the brothers.

"C-Chris?" Aidan whispered, coughing slightly as he did. His voice was raspy, and every time he coughed, he would grimace at the taste of blood in the back of his throat.

"What is it, little bro?" Christian asked urgently as he leaned over his brother.

"W-why?"

Christian gazed at him, utterly confused. "Why what?"

"Why... couldn't I remember? What, what had happened... to Mum and Dad?"

Christian frowned slightly. He knew this question was bound to come up. "Look, Aidan. Most people were saying that you'd started the fire, since the striker and the ashes were found in your room. I didn't believe them, of course, but I didn't want you to have to live with that. I know it probably wasn't smart of me to do that, but at the time, it was the best I could think of." He sighed, feeling ashamed of himself. "I was only twenty at the time; I didn't even think I could raise you. But when they talked about putting you in foster care, I knew I had to deal with it and make it work because it was what Mum and Dad would have wanted for us. So I asked Mum's coworkers to place a Memory Charm over you, just so that you wouldn't remember the events of that afternoon."

Aidan said nothing for a long while, which made Christian nervous. "So, you, you, always suspected Bailey?"

"Yeah. I, I didn't have proof that he did it, but... I guess I always thought he had something to do with it." Speaking about Bailey made his blood boil; it was because of him that his brother was so injured now.

Aidan exhaled slowly as a shudder ran through his body, and his eyes slowly closed.

"No, Aidan!" Christian shook his brother vigorously. "No, no, no, no! NO!"


	31. Chapter 31

"Shit! Aidan, please, no!" Christian could feel his hands begin to tremble as he shook his brother's shoulder again. "Aidan, come on, please! Stay with me!"

The Healers immediately knelt beside them, trying to awaken him with various spells. The fourth Healer appeared then, holding a vial of Blood Replenishing Potion.

"He's not waking up," one of the other Healers said.

Christian kept shaking Aidan, trying desperately to get a response from him. Finally, Aidan's eyelids opened ever so slightly, and Christian gasped.

"Aidan! Thank God, you have to stay with me, okay? We've got the Blood Replenishing Potion, just hold on!"

"Chris... I, I can't." The words barely made it past his lips.

"Yes, yes you can! You're strong, Aidan! You can make it! Just don't give up, all right?" Tears were slowly cascading down Christian's face, but he paid them no attention. He gingerly took Aidan into his arms, holding him close, as if he was nine again.

The Healer tried to give Aidan the potion, but although his reflexes allowed him to swallow most of it, he was just too weak for it to make a significant difference.

"I'm sorry... I've... let you down, Chris," he whispered.

"Hell no, Aidan!" Christian cried, holding him closer. "You've n-never let me down! You've done so much more than I could ever dream of doing. Mum and Dad... they'd, they'd be proud of you, little bro."

"They'd... be proud of you, too. You... raised me when... everyone else thought, thought you couldn't."

Tears were running down both mens' faces as they clung to each other, an older, mirror image of that fateful night seventeen years earlier.

"I love you, Aidan. You know that?" Christian had buried his face in Aidan's shoulder. "I love you so much, you have no idea. I'm sorry for all the times I called you a party pooper and said you were never going to get a girlfriend." Christian's voice broke as sobs overwhelmed him. "I'm so sorry... God, please, please just let me keep him with me, _please!"

Aidan clung as tightly to his older brother as he could as tears slid down his face. The words "I love you" could be discerned as they passed his lips, and after a moment, his eyes closed, and a slow breath escaped him before he breathed no more.

"NO!" Christian broke into hysterical sobs as he collapsed beside Aidan. He couldn't believe it; his parents were dead, and now he had lost his only sibling, the boy he had raised. He knew there had been things he hadn't done very well, and he regretted those things. However, Aidan had turned out great, and that was what he was most proud of. It still hurt more than anything, though, to know that Aidan would never get to meet a girl, or get married, or have a family, or be an uncle.

Rage joined his grief so suddenly that his body jerked a little in response. His brother was dead, and it was all because of his own best friend. Before he knew what he was doing, he reached over and stroked Aidan's face.

"I swear I'll avenge you, little bro," he whispered, anger creeping into his voice.

He got to his feet and, without looking back, dashed toward the house, leaving the Healers looking stunned and confused.

"Christian!" a voice called to him just as he reached the front door. Jeremy was bounding toward him, his wand in his hand. He looked tense, as everyone on the scene did.

"What?" Christian asked, sounding only slightly irritated.

"What are you doing?"

Christian stared at his friend for a long moment. "Aidan... Aidan's dead." His voice had cracked in the middle of his sentence, and he could feel his entire body begin to tremble with the emotions he was hardly able to suppress.

Jeremy's wand slipped from his grasp, and he stared at Christian, the color leaving his face. "Oh, hell no," he breathed, retrieving his dropped wand. "Who—"

"Bailey."

Jeremy gripped his wand even tighter. "That fucking son of a bitch! After Aidan—"

"I know." Christian could barely keep his voice steady. He could feel his mangled composure begin to slip. "I, I'll be back." He yanked the door open.

"Where are—"

"I'm going to give Bailey a taste of his own medicine."

Jeremy didn't argue—he knew it was pointless to do so. Instead, he followed Christian inside. Christian hadn't bothered to waste any time telling him not to come along; instead, he tore through the house with a fierce, almost hostile determination.

Finding Bailey had been almost too easy. No one had bothered to lift the curse that Ron had placed on him. Christian removed it, but Bailey didn't stand right away. Instead, he stared at Christian, his expression showing that he knew why he had come back.

"I bet you're happy," Christian growled, taking a step toward Bailey. "You've finally destroyed him. After everything he fucking did for you!" Bailey stiffened slightly at the volume of Christian's voice, but Christian didn't notice.

"Oh, it's easy for you to talk, isn't it?" Bailey asked defensively. "You didn't have to live with my insane parents who were so insistent that I couldn't even do the simplest thing! You didn't have to live in the shadow of your own best friend! You didn't have to deal with professors telling you that you won't get any O.W.L.'s or get a good job because you suck at school, while your best friend is top of the class!"

Bailey's voice had risen to a crescendo with each exclamation. Tears had begun to appear in the corners of his eyes, and he didn't bother to wipe them away. He slowly sat up, but kept close to the wall to avoid meeting Christian's eyes.

"You didn't have to live with the fact that the only person who bothered to hang out with you was better at every fucking thing, while you were lucky enough not to be cursed by your father!"

Christian stared down at the young man before him. Bailey's words had little effect on his intention to turn him over to the Dementors, or kill him himself.

"Christian." Jeremy had spoken for the first time since they had found Bailey. "I don't think we should waste any more time. I'm sure they're bound to take Aidan soon."

Just as Jeremy finished speaking, a sound like shattering glass came from downstairs.

"The others," Christian said. "They'll try to capture the Death Eaters before too many get away." He turned back to Bailey again, and his anger returned. "He did everything for you!" he roared, making Bailey cringe. "He begged Mum to let you come over when your parents were giving you a hard time! He shared every damn thing he ever got with you, right down to the last Chocolate Frog in the box, even going as far as to let you keep the cards because your parents wouldn't buy you any!" Christian was screaming at the top of his lungs now, and Bailey was cowering against the wall, his hands over his face in an effort to hide the tears that began to soak his shirt. "He stayed up every night with you for an entire month to help you pass your fucking O.W.L.'s, and again for your N.E.W.T.'s! You didn't give a shit, you'd told me so yourself! When he'd insisted that you sit down and study a little with him, you refused, saying you didn't give a rat's ass, and then you went to him crying because you were going to fail! That was your own fucking fault!"

He closed the distance between himself and Bailey in a single stride and slammed his fist into Bailey's face, breaking his nose. Jeremy winced reflexively from his spot near the door as he saw the blood spurting from the wound.

"Every bad thing that ever happened to you, every time you didn't get something you wanted, every time you failed and Aidan didn't, it was because of you! _You were pathetic enough to believe that you couldn't do anything, and you were too fucking jealous of Aidan to see that you could have done just as well! Instead of trying to make your life better, you acted like you didn't give a shit, and when it came back to bite you in the ass, you chose to blame someone else, _anyone else, but yourself! And look what the fuck happened! My brother fucking died because of your selfish ass!" He struck Bailey in the side, slamming him into the wall.

Jeremy turned as the clamor from downstairs reached a peak. Shouts preceded crashing as more glass smashed, and the sharp sound that could only be made by splintering wood. He wanted to race downstairs and help, but something kept him there.

Bailey was quaking where he sat, crimson rivulets still pouring from his face. "I know I'm fucking worthless, all right? You don't have to shove all of this in my face! I know he was better than me—"

"BUT YOU DIDN'T HAVE To FUCKING KILL HIM!" Christian bellowed. "If you were civilized at all, you would have had some fucking sympathy! But I'm sure you got so much enjoyment out of seeing him so fucked up, didn't you? If you were like any of those others, you would have just ended him with a Killing Curse, but no! You just had to torture him, to tear him to shreds and drain the blood out of him!" Bailey's face had become considerably paler as he tried unsuccessfully to stem the flow of blood from his nose. Christian knelt so that he was at his level.

"If you're going to kill me, do it!" Bailey cried out. "Just do it now!"

"Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" Christian asked, a look of pure revulsion on his face, his voice filled with venom. "You'd just love to have your life ended painlessly, so that what you did won't haunt you. But I'm not going to do that. I'm going to turn you over to the Dementors and let _them handle you."

What little color had remained in Bailey's cheeks was now gone. "Christian, no, please! You know what they'd do to me! You, you know Aidan wouldn't—"

"Don't you fucking tell me what Aidan would and wouldn't have done! Because of you, HE. ISN'T. Here!" He dragged Bailey to his feet and shoved him toward the door.

Jeremy acted without needing to be told. He bound Bailey's wrists with a rope he had conjured and helped Christian usher him toward the chaos on the first floor.

The minutes that followed were hectic—several of the Death Eaters, including Connor and Ben, were escorted directly to Azkaban. Bailey was among those arrested that would serve life sentences without getting a trial.

The fast-paced activity had been enough to distract Christian for awhile, but when the adrenaline finally wore off, he was left with overwhelming grief. He had begged to be given some time with Aidan, and although the Healers didn't feel it was wise, they allowed it. Seeing his brother's lifeless body destroyed the last of Christian's resolve, and in the privacy of the large room, Christian let his earlier rage become grief and guilt. He clung to Aidan as he sobbed without restraint.

Unbeknownst to Christian, Jeremy slipped quietly into the room, closing the door behind him. He had never seen his friend look so grief-ravaged and distraught. His face was buried in the crook of his arm, and he was lying protectively over Aidan, as if by doing this, he could undo what had already been done.

"Chris."

Even though Jeremy had whispered, Christian started violently, jarring Aidan's body as he did so.

"Hey, it's okay," Jeremy said in an undertone. "You're all right. It's just me."

Christian sighed shakily and rubbed his face. His eyes were swollen and red, and he looked drawn and washed out. Wordlessly, Jeremy offered him a glass of water. Christian took it after a moment and tried to get his hands to stop shaking as he took a sip.

"Chris, I, I really think you should get some sleep. I know you won't be able to, but at least, at least try." Seeing the look on his friend's face, Jeremy added hastily, "I'll make sure they don't do anything to him without your permission."

Christian was silent for a long while, and Jeremy was almost convinced he wouldn't answer. He seemed unwilling to leave Aidan, even though it was clear that he wouldn't get his brother back.

"O-okay," Christian stammered weakly. "I'll... I'll be up in a minute."

Knowing he ought not to push Christian, Jeremy nodded and quietly left the room.

Christian remained by Aidan's side for a long while, running his fingers through his brother's hair. He swallowed hard as a fresh wave of tears stung his eyes. It wasn't until then that he realized how truly unfulfilled his life had been. He was thirty-seven, and he had never attempted to take dating—or even women, for that matter—very seriously. His relationship with Keyana was his longest ever, nearing two months in three days. He thought about what Aidan had said to him each time he would go out to the pub or bring home a different girl every other week: "It's good to have fun, but there's going to be a time when you're not going to be happy with your life if you keep this up."

Seeing his younger brother dead was like a cold, raw reality check. Life was short, and even though it was good to make it fun, it was just as important for one's life to have significant meaning. At thirty-seven, Christian Howard knew he should already have a wife and a family. He had dismissed Aidan's advice to "get his life together", but now he was determined to make a change.

He gave Aidan one last, affectionate hug before he whispered tearfully, "I'm going to do what you told me, little bro. I promise you. I'll make sure I live for the both of us."


	32. Chapter 32

Christian stared at the vial in front of him. He placed the numerical score by the trainee's name on the long roll of parchment which was stretched vertically on his desk, before stoppering the potion and placing it carefully on a tray with the other vials he had already graded. He exhaled wearily and rested his chin in the palm of his hand. It was nearly six o'clock, and he had finally finished with the trainees' Potions exam.

His eyes shifted to the photographs on his desk. Aidan smiled timidly from one of them, looking just a little embarrassed. In another one, Aidan was grinning, holding a box of chocolate frogs. A third showed Aidan with frosting all over his face. He looked a little flustered, but his eyes were sparkling with the smile he had purposefully tried to hide. This one made Christian laugh out loud whenever he looked at it, but today was an exception. He felt strangely depressed, and Keyana had tried to cheer him up before he had gone to work that morning.

He wasn't sure what he would have done without Keyana. The past month had been absolute hell for him—he had gone through the various stages of grief several times over. The pain of losing his parents had indeed been unbearable, but losing Aidan had been like a dagger was mercilessly slashing him to ribbons. He had initially refused to enter Aidan's room or touch any of his things. Forcing himself to do it hadn't been wise at all—nearly half an hour afterward, Keyana had found him huddled near the foot of Aidan's bed, his head between his knees as his body had convulsed with sobs.

Now, the metaphoric dagger still remained in him, and seeing Aidan's face in pictures made his eyes sting and his heart ache. The sound of footsteps made him jump—it was remarkable how distracted he had become. As he peered over his shoulder, he saw the silhouette of a woman as it drew closer. It was Keyana.

"Hey," she said, entering his cubicle. As she reached him, she tried to give him a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. She scrutinized him with her gaze, her eyes moving slowly from his shoes upward until they reached his face.

"I'm done," he said quietly, placing his quill beside the inkwell. He got to his feet and stretched, yawning as he did so.

Keyana took his hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I've prepared dinner," she said as she led him out of the cubicle.

Christian nodded and smiled faintly, but he said nothing. Keyana frowned slightly at his silence—it was the only sign Christian ever displayed when he was tired or upset. Neither of them spoke as they headed through the building. Almost everyone who worked during the day had already gone home, with only a few witches and wizards remaining.

As they entered the house, Christian went through the usual, almost automatic motions of removing his shoes and cloak. As he glanced around the sitting room, a heavy weight seemed to settle itself onto him. Aidan's face seemed to be everywhere he looked.

"Love?" Keyana's warm fingers brushed his cheek. "Are you all right?"

Christian wasn't sure he could speak. He forced himself to meet her gaze. "Yeah. Fine. I'm just... I'm going to go take a shower."

Keyana's brow furrowed slightly as she saw the unmistakable pain that flickered in his eyes. "All right, love." She gave him a gentle kiss before she watched him walk heavily toward the stairs.

Christian was glad for the shower; it gave him some time alone. He had spent much of the past month in the company of his friends and coworkers, and even though he appreciated their attempts to keep him busy, he often preferred solitude. He needed to sort through his feelings, as negative as they may be. He needed to deal with his grief properly, and not stash it away and hope it would disappear.

He took a moment to lean most of his weight against the wall of the shower as he closed his eyes, letting the hot water pelt him from all sides. He hadn't even realized he had been crying until he tasted something salty on the tip of his tongue. He allowed his emotions to take control, and it was like the knot that had been coiled inside his soul had finally been pull to its limit and had snapped. The facade he had displayed for everyone over the past month was now unraveling at a rapid rate, so much so that it almost startled him.

He sank to the tiled floor and placed his head between his knees, his entire body beginning to tremble with the force of the emotions contained within him. He cried for his parents, whose lives had been cut much too short, who were killed by a family who envied their respective places within the Ministry. He cried for the times he told them he hated them as a child, and for his unwillingness to comply with their basic wishes of academic success.

But most of all, he cried for Aidan, for the little boy who had woken up that night in the hospital, dazed and confused, for the teenager who he had picked on just because he wanted to read a book rather than go out to a pub, for the young man he coaxed without success into dating any of the girls he had suggested, and for the young man who would never live to see his twenty-seventh birthday.

He could have prevented it all, if only he had paid attention to the signs, if only he had begged Aidan to make new friends instead of indirectly hinting at it. He wished he would have been the one to volunteer to find Harry that day. He wished he would have been the one to take the curses instead of Aidan. He wished Aidan would have been the one to turn Bailey in. Christian would never get his little brother back, and that was the most painful part of it all. He would never again hear Aidan's laugh, see his smile, see the look on his face whenever they were speaking sarcastically to each other. He would never again enter Aidan's room and find him curled up underneath his warm blanket, sound asleep with a book in his hand and the lit wand beside his pillow...

A knock on the door made Christian's head snap up. He stared around for an instant, feeling somewhat disoriented.

"Chris?" Keyana inquired worriedly from the doorway. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he replied, clearing his throat. "Fine. I just... I'll be out in a minute."

Keyana frowned as she closed the door and retreated to the bedroom. Christian forced himself to his feet. He turned off the shower and stepped out, shivering slightly as a cold draft ran through the bathroom. He felt suddenly exhausted as he dried himself and got dressed. Before he left the bathroom, he looked into the mirror.

A familiar stranger gazed back at him. He recognized his chiseled features and his caramel eyes, but something about them was different. The man who peered back at him looked older. He looked haggard, and their were bags underneath his eyes. Feeling just as horribly as his reflection looked, Christian dragged himself from the bathroom As he sank onto the edge of the bed. Keyana reached over and took his hand.

"Do you want some dinner?"

"Nah... I think, I think I might just take a nap or something."

Keyana squeezed his hand affectionately. She stood up and pulled the covers back, and Christian obediently slid under them. Once he was comfortable, she sat down and began to massage his shoulders soothingly. He was much too tired to object, and the massage made his tense muscles begin to relax.

Within minutes, Christian was sound asleep, his breathing slow and deep. Keyana continued to knead his back until she was sure he wouldn't wake, before she curled up beside him. Seeing Christian so distraught was startling for Keyana. His smiles were no longer natural and lit with an excited anticipation. Now, his smiles were rare, and they were forced and taut.

Aidan's death had impacted the lives of everyone who knew him, whether directly or not. Keyana had enjoyed Aidan's company; he had been the one to reason with Christian most of the time, and even though he didn't talk to her very much at first, he and Keyana had grown to become somewhat close.

She sighed as she let her eyes drift to a photograph of the brothers making "peace" signs and grinning. _I'll take care of him, _Aidan, she thought as she blinked back tears. _I _promise.

"Harry James Potter, are you _still not ready yet?" Hayley was standing in the doorway with a large gift bag in her hands, trying, unsuccessfully, to look annoyed.

"Almost," Harry said. "Hang on."

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to arrange my hair."

She shook her head. "Why? You know it never works."

Harry sighed, knowing she was right. He set down the comb and gazed at his reflection for a moment. It was astounding, what a year and a half of Auror training could do to someone. Harry had gained more muscle during that time, and although he was still thin, he looked much more built. His potions had improved dramatically, and even his skills in jinxes and curses was much more refined.

He turned around and headed out of the bedroom and toward the door with Hayley close behind. As they stood on the porch together, Harry reflected on the past year and a half of his life. It had been rather emotional, to say the least, but he had come out much stronger than he had been even after the war had ended. He and Ginny were on speaking terms now, and they both decided that it may be best that they remain close friends. Ginny had gotten to know Hayley better, and they were even friendly.

Hayley slid her hand into his, and they Disapparated. They were greeted by the clamor of music and laughter as they landed in the front yard of the house. Just as they had arrived, the door burst open, and a figure jogged toward them.

"Harry! Hayley!" Keyana was grinning from ear to ear as she approached. "I knew that was you guys!" She embraced them each in turn, her radiant smile never leaving her face.

Hayley grinned joyfully back. "You look great," she remarked.

"Thanks!" Keyana chirped, rubbing her abdomen affectionately. "I _feel great!"

"So he's behaving himself, then?" Hayley asked teasingly as she and Harry followed Keyana toward the house.

"Yeah. He's been kicking a lot lately, though. It's like he's playing football inside me or something." The delicious scent of food greeted them as Keyana pushed the door open and beckoned them inside. "Chris!" she called. "Look who joined the party!"

A few seconds passed, then Harry could hear the sound of trainers striking tile as Christian appeared. "Harry!" He clapped his young friend on the shoulder. "I wondered when you'd come. Neville and Luna are already here, and Hermione called to say she and Ron were coming."

Harry grinned, and soon he and Christian were off to the backyard, talking about the upcoming Quidditch match (which they were attending).

"Look at them," Keyana said, smiling and shaking her head. "That's all they can talk about, Quidditch."

"Don't think that's anything new, though," Hayley said. "That's how it's always been with boys—"

"And that's how it'll always be," both girls said together, laughing.

The timer on the oven went off with a _ding, and Keyana beckoned Hayley to follow her as she went into the kitchen. She slipped her hands into oven mitts before retrieving a steaming apple pie and setting it on the counter.

"How's Christian?" Hayley asked somewhat cautiously.

Keyana's gaze shifted from the pie to the sliding glass door. "He's doing... better." She chose her words carefully. "He has his bad days now and again, though. I think the baby's kind of helping him, you know?"

Hayley nodded sympathetically. "Have you picked out a name for him yet?"

Keyana nodded. "We have. We're naming him after Aidan. Aidan Caleb."

"That's really great." She helped Keyana slice the pie before topping it with whipped cream and placing it on the kitchen table. Hayley handed Keyana the gift bag she had brought, and although she had insisted that Hayley and Harry didn't have to bring anything, she was still thankful for their gift.

Hermione and Ron had arrived not long after Hayley and Harry had, and before long the two groups were enveloped in their own worlds—the women were sitting on lawn chairs, talking and relaxing, while the men played several games of Quidditch and wizard chess.

Christian was glad for the company of so many of his friends: Jeremy and his wife (who was pregnant as well), Harry and Hayley, Neville and Luna and Ron and Hermione, and, most of all, Keyana and their unborn son.

He knew he was doing the right thing. He knew he had made the right choices in the past few months. He really loved Keyana, and he realized that he didn't want anyone else to be the mother of his children. They were due to be married in a year, and Keyana was already planning it, right down to the kind of invitations they would send out. The baby shower was a success, and he was glad to be surrounded by so many people.


	33. Chapter 33

Christian didn't have to look at the calendar that hung over the dresser to know what the date was. He had tried so hard to forget it, but his brain would not let him. His fiancee and two-month-old son were sound asleep, but even though he, too, was tired, he was unable to join them. He rubbed his eyes and glanced wearily toward the clock. It was only five forty-five. He rolled onto his left side and closed his eyes, trying to force himself to fall asleep.

"Chris? Love?" Keyana's soft voice yanked him out of the beginnings of sleep. She touched his shoulder as he flinched slightly. "It's all right, sweetheart. I just wanted to know if you wanted some breakfast."

"Huh?" He blinked in surprise as he stared over at the clock. How had two and a half hours passed so quickly?

"Are you all right?" Keyana asked with a frown. "You don't look too well."

"Didn't sleep at all," he murmured, trying to keep himself awake. It bothered him—not even two hours ago, he had been tossing and turning. Now, he could barely keep himself from dropping off to sleep.

Keyana was gazing at him, her brow knit with anxiety. Her eyes moved to the calendar above their dresser, and understanding poured into her. Wordlessly, she wrapped her arms around him. Neither of them spoke as Christian rested his head on her shoulder, his eyes closed.

"How long has it been since you went to see him?" she whispered, breaking the silence.

"Awhile," Christian said in a subdued voice. "I, I'd meant to go soon, though."

"Why don't we go later today?" she suggested. She could tell that as much as Christian had done his best to move forward with his own life, he was still carrying a significant weight that resulted from the death of his younger brother.

"I, I don't... I just don't think..." Christian trailed off, trying to fight the horrible prickling in the back of his eyes.

Keyana didn't push him for more. She simply held him close and rubbed his back. After awhile, Christian curled up beside her, and with Keyana's soothing hands massaging his back, he was soon as soundly asleep as his son was.

Christian awoke nearly three hours later feeling somewhat better. He brushed his teeth and walked into the kitchen.

"Hey," Keyana said, making her way toward him. "You want something to eat?"

"It's all right, love," he said with a yawn. "I've got it."

As he prepared some tea and a breakfast sandwich, he glanced over toward the bassinet. Aidan was lying face-up, his tiny hands crossed over his chest. The sight made Christian laugh out loud. Keyana glanced at him, and he gestured to their son.

"He's so adorable!" Keyana exclaimed with a broad, loving smile. She bent over and kissed the baby's forehead.

He gazed at his mother as intently as any two-month-old could, and something seemed to click inside Christian. There was just something about his son's gaze, something that kept hold of him.

As he ate his sandwich and sipped his tea, he found he could not shove the feelings away. The photographs which held his brother's face were suddenly too vivid to look away from. As his dishes washed themselves in the sink, Christian knew he couldn't just stay inside. He had to do something, anything.

"I'll be back," he told Keyana as he kissed her gently. "I'm going for a walk."

He left before she could reply. The warm August morning was comforting as Christian jogged along the road. He hadn't even planned where he would go, he had simply fled from the sight of Aidan's smiling face in the portraits. A fence seemed to appear out of nowhere, and Christian had barely managed to stop before he ran into it.

Christian looked up as he tried to catch his breath. He realized that he was standing by a tall post with a large, peeling sign. He didn't read the lettering; instead, he stared down the path by the fence. With legs that suddenly felt like lead, he made his way down the path and into the cemetery. As if on autopilot, Christian tromped between the graves, his eyes searching the headstones. Finally, as his legs began to tremble, he found the one he was looking for.

He dropped limply beside his brother's grave and wrapped his arms around his knees, tears already blurring his vision.

"You have no idea how much I miss you, little bro," he whispered, his fingertips resting on the edge of the headstone.

The words were vivid, despite Christian's blurry vision.

_AIDAN _CALEB _HOWARD

_BORN: _20 _SEPTEMBER, _1972

_DIED: _14 _AUGUST, _1999

Underneath it, Christian recognized his own, slightly messy handwriting:

I'll never forget you, little bro. Every morning, every afternoon, every evening, as long as I live, I'll think of you. I know you're always going to be with me. I'll never forget the promise I made to you.

Before he could stop them, tears flowed down his face, and he was alone with nothing but the longing to hear Aidan's voice just one more time, to see his smile from somewhere other than a picture, to hear him laugh. He wanted to tell him how sorry he was for not arriving sooner...

Something struck Christian's wrist. He gasped and recoiled, toppling onto his back in the tall grass. His vision clouded as he cracked his head on a nearby gravestone. Tears stinging his eyes from the blow, he slowly sat up, fighting the intense urge to lie back down. He reached forward blindly, searching for the object that had caught him by surprise.

All he was able to find, however, was a small, rounded stone. He held it close to his face to get a better view of it. An odd shape was on its surface, and Christian thought he saw a crack down its center. He winced as a sharp pounding began in the back of his head and worked its way slowly toward his temples. Grimacing, he lay back in the grass, closing his eyes. _I'm just going to rest for a _minute, he thought. _Just until this headache goes _away...

His hands fiddled with the stone, turning it once, twice, three times. He tried to focus on something to keep the throbbing in his head from becoming his first thought, but the only thing his mind would come up with was Aidan's face. He felt tears fall slowly from the corners of his eyes, but he didn't think he could will himself to wipe them away.

"Chris..."

Christian's body jerked violently, which only increased the pain in his skull.

"Chris."

The voice was unmistakable. It couldn't be, though. Aidan was dead. Christian dropped the stone and pushed himself up into a sitting position. He opened his eyes and blinked several times before he cast a furtive glance around.

At first, he hadn't noticed anything different. The gravestones remained as they were, and he saw no evidence of change. The sound of someone shifting their weight came to him from his left, and he started again, his head whipping toward it.

He could not restrain the gasp that left his lips. Aidan was standing a few feet away from him. His skin was unblemished; he was smiling tenderly down at his older brother.

"A-Aidan?" Christian gasped breathlessly. "But, but, but, you're... you're, you're dead..."

"Yeah," Aidan said quietly, the smile vanishing somewhat. "I am."

"But, but then, but then why are you here? H-_how are you here?"

He pointed down at the spot where the rounded stone lay.

Christian stared at his younger brother, nonplused. He could tell that Aidan wasn't exactly alive—he appeared neither solid nor ghostlike. If he had known better, he would have sworn it was just a figment of his imagination.

"How hard did I hit my head?" he wondered aloud.

Aidan frowned slightly at him. It was the same frown he always gave Christian whenever he had said something ridiculous. "Pretty hard, but that's not the reason I'm here."

"Why, then?" Grimacing as the pain began to intensify, Christian flopped back onto the grass, staring up at Aidan.

It seemed like a long while before Aidan spoke, but Christian was sure it was merely his own inability to keep track of time.

"I want you to be happy, Chris," Aidan said in a low, sad voice. "I don't want you to be so upset about what happened that day."

A fresh wave of tears came to Christian's eyes, but he didn't bother wiping them away. "You, you don't understand, Aidan," he whispered. "I, I could have stopped it all. I could have saved you and Harry and turned Bailey in. You, you didn't have to die."

Aidan sighed, his gaze resting on Christian's tear-soaked face. "Don't blame yourself for all of this, Chris. I should have paid more attention. I would have seen the signs for myself, but I was too stupid to think he would spare my life just because we were friends."

"No!" Christian cried. "No, you weren't! He was supposed to be your friend, Aidan. He was supposed to be with you through thick and thin, support you even when you achieved something he didn't. If he had really been your friend, he wouldn't have killed Mum and Dad, or even you, simply out of jealousy."

Aidan was silent for what seemed like a long time. "I suppose." His voice was very quiet now, reminding Christian of how he had acted in life. "But," Aidan continued, "that's not why I really wanted to talk to you. I want you to live a good life, Chris. I'm happy you finally found someone you can settle down with."

"Thank you, little bro," Christian said, his voice still quivering. "I knew... I knew after you died... I had to straighten my life out."

"And you are, which is brilliant."

With an effort, Christian staggered to his feet. He faced the semisolid representation of his brother. "I hate it, Aidan. I hate that you can't live your life because of some fucked-up kid."

Aidan sighed again. "It's already done. He'll have to live with what he did for the rest of his life. I can't think of a more compromising solution."

Christian shook his head slowly, but he said nothing. It was just like his brother, to be mature about things that angered him. Aidan took a step toward him, and Christian took a step forward, too.

"I'll always be with you, though," Aidan said. The soft smile that lit his face made Christian's heart skip a few beats. This was what he had missed most, just being able to interact with Aidan like they used to.

"How? I mean, I'll always be thinking of you, that'll never change."

Aidan's quiet laugh filled the air. "It's quite simple, Chris. I'll be with you through your son. My nephew. Mum, Dad, and I, we'll always watch over you and Keyana and Aidan."

For some strange reason, Christian wanted to throw himself at Aidan, to wrap his arms around him, even though he knew his brother wasn't entirely alive. "You promise?" The question sounded childish coming from a man of Christian's age, but it revealed some of the vulnerability he kept hidden inside his soul.

Aidan smiled affectionately at his older brother. "Always. Bailey may have taken me physically, but he'll never destroy what is essentially ours."

Christian was about to ask what that was, but at that instant, as he stood gazing into his brother's face, he knew what Aidan meant. "Our brotherhood," he whispered.

"Exactly." Aidan's smile was radiant.

For a long while, the brothers gazed at one another. Christian scrutinized every detail of Aidan's face, as if by doing so, he would be able to remember it better in the future

"You'll be okay, won't you?" Aidan asked, his eyes searching Christian's face.

If Aidan had asked him a few months ago, or even that very morning, Christian would have said he wouldn't be. But as he gazed down at his brother's grave, then at Aidan's face, he felt a new sort of resolve creep into him.

"Yeah," he said finally. "I will be."

"And that's all I want," Aidan replied, staring fixedly at Christian. "You should go back to them, Chris. To your family."

Christian nodded resolutely as he turned on his heel. He glanced down at his own writing on Aidan's gravestone, and he suddenly realized he had forgotten something. He brought forth his wand, knelt down, and began to carve more words underneath the original.

No matter what everyone says, no matter what happens, we'll always be friends, and, most of all, brothers.

He admired his handiwork for a moment before he tucked his wand back into his cloak and made his way out of the graveyard with the stone's image of Aidan by his side. They made their way back up the path that led to the road. They paused as they reached the sign that marked the cemetery, where Christian was supposed to turn left to head home.

"I leave you here, Chris," Aidan whispered.

Christian shook his head. "No, you won't. Not entirely, at least."

Aidan chuckled. "Right. As friends and brothers, then?"

Christian smiled and nodded, facing Aidan for the last time. "As brothers. I love you, little bro, never forget that."

"I won't. And remember that whenever you need to remember anything about me, all you have to do is look at your own son. And perhaps, if you want to, your own memories will be of use to you."

Christian nodded again. "Thanks, Aidan. For always believing in me."

"That's what brothers are for." He grinned. "I knew you'd decide to settle down sooner or later."

Christian laughed a little. After a moment, he nodded to Aidan, who grinned and nodded back. The two brothers turned and walked in opposite directions, their destinies clearly defined. Christian glanced back just in time to see Aidan's image fading slowly from view.

"It's not goodbye," Christian whispered into the silence. "I'll see you someday, little bro."

And with that, the elder Howard brother continued down the winding road that would lead him back to his fiancee and infant son, feeling comforted by the fact that his parents and younger brother would always be with him. He would face anything that came his way, for he knew that he would never be truly alone. Aidan may no longer be alive, but the words on his grave would always hold true for Christian: they would remain friends for all eternity, and, most importantly, they would always be brothers.

[Author's Note: So, guys! This is the end of Obliviate! Whether you're happy about that or not, I'm really not sure, but I'll definitely post more soon. This is my first fan fiction, and I'm so glad I never talked myself out of finishing it. Thank you all so much for reading! 3 May Aidan live on! xD 333]


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